Bye Bye Blackbird
by Em Dixon
Summary: There is a reason Zuko is fighting a losing war against Chicago's mobsters. Someone has to be the barrier against the darkness. AU, Zutara.
1. Chapter 1

The mid September air was already starting to cool, the leaves on the trees beginning to turn colors, the variations slight, not yet the exaggerated difference that would come in October and bring with it the darker mood of death and decay. The heels of Zuko's shoes clicked on the sidewalk, echoing through a silence that should have been filled with the laughter of children and possibly the raised voices of mothers calling for those children to come to bed. The sun was barely down, darkness not quite descended; the brick facades of the houses were already receding into shadow. The night would be overcast, and Zuko flipped up the collar of his long coat to shield the back of his neck against the cool breeze, pulling his hat down a little further on his head.

This was not the way his neighborhood was supposed to be. He and Katara and the children lived on the edges Chicago's Cook County for a reason—it was safe, it was quiet, the schools were good, and it was the perfect mix of city and suburb. They'd searched hard to carve out their piece of heaven, and distaste curled in the pit of Zuko's stomach, making him punch his feet into the ground as he walked. The sound of walking feet doubled, and Zuko slowed his pace, his hand instantly going for the gun in his pocket. It was a dangerous game he was playing, and even though Zuko could feel the power of the weapon in its weight and solidity in his hand, he knew he would be outclassed. When one dealt with mobsters, the mobsters always seemed to have the bigger and better arsenal.

Zuko dealt with the mob nearly every day as a detective on Chicago's police force. Prohibition was still in place, and nine years into the 1918 amendment, it showed no signs of being repealed, and the thirst for alcohol was showing no sign of fading away. Prohibition made those thugs bold, and gave them a new industry to exploit. Where the mob might have watched their backs before, paying special attention to police beats and looking out for cops like Zuko who had it in for them, they used this new found power to taunt the police. Zuko grit his teeth, listening again as footsteps echoed around him.

Not wanting to lead anyone back to his house if he was indeed being followed, Zuko took a longer, meandering route through the neighborhood. He did not look over his shoulder, and he did not slow or quicken his pace. He remained level, the gun ready in his fist because they were determined to wage war, and Zuko was determined to give it back to them. He would not ignore the way doors and windows stood as barriers for families where, previously, those barriers had not existed. He would not ignore the fear Katara relayed to him from her fellow teachers and the other wives she spent time with. He would not ignore the way death had crept its dark fingers into his peaceful neighborhood, making people lock their doors and pull their children in before dark.

Zuko stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and reached into his coat pocket to pull out the engraved cigarette case and matching lighter that Katara had given him for their ninth wedding anniversary. As he lit his cigarette, he waited and listened. Only the sounds of birds and squirrels greeted him; if there had ever been any footsteps, he couldn't hear them any longer, and there were no more signs that he was being followed. He couldn't even hear a stray animal or the sounds of a radio carried through an open window. He exhaled a puff of smoke and watched it float off into the sky. Night had taken on a new character, one that ceased to be a time of day and was now some menacing force that made everyone—not just the women and the children—seek protection. He was to be that protector, and for the past six months, he'd been failing at it. Those echoing footsteps, now and several times in the past months, were a cold reminder of that.

Every night when he caught the train home, Zuko stood at this particular intersection, seven blocks from his house. He came here as a memorial and a reminder, even though it was out of his way. It was a 'T' street, one side lined with nearly identical houses, distinguishable by the artistry of the flower arrangements, or lack thereof, the neatness of their yards, or the color of the fence. Across at one corner was a popular candy counter and drug store with a partial fruit and vegetable stand. Everyone called the old man who owned the store the Cabbage Merchant because of his insistence on cabbage as a miracle food. More houses were across the street from the drug store, some old friends of Katara's living right at the corner. Song, the wife's name was. She'd gone to teaching school with Katara, and they'd ended up moving into the same neighborhood, and even teaching at the same school.

Zuko exhaled a large puff of smoke, staring at the black pavement. Song had young children. Nearly everyone in their neighborhood had children or grandchildren, and that's what made this whole incident so incomprehensible to him. It angered him that they would keep their silence for so long, that they would sweep this incident under their rugs and stamp it down as best they could. What excuses did they give their children for this new, self-imposed curfew? What reason did they give each other for the locked doors and the increased fear? He wondered if they spoke names like "The Mustache" and "Smiling" Aang. He wondered if they spoke of "The Governor," and the Bei Fongs, or if those names were forbidden, left to the police to sort out with little help from them. Zuko exhaled another puff and shook his head.

"Why won't you talk to me?" he muttered angrily into the night, addressing that blank spot in the street, long since cleaned of its gore.

Perhaps the difference was that he'd seen it. Zuko had held the chalk in his hand as he outlined the child's twisted body, marking the place where he'd been gunned down in a vaguely human outline six months before. That memory haunted Zuko's dreams, the way the head was shattered on the left side, brain and blood seeping onto the pavement, the eye completely gone. The bullet marks were still on the pavement, now little more than grooves in the street. The blood had soaked through the boy's tan shirt around the shoulder, and at the gaping hole in the stomach. Zuko remembered the way his intestines looked. The coroner had to physically put them back inside the boy. The body was still warm when they wheeled it away, and Zuko watched the atmosphere change after that. Everyone had been content to take street cars and trains, to see the city in a leisurely fashion, but now so many husbands were considering cars to ferry their family and create some shield between them and the war that was coming.

Grinding his cigarette stub into the ground with the toe of his shoe, Zuko forced the last of the smoke through his nostrils and continued on his way. In the early days, Zuko could find out whatever he wanted about the child. His name was Lee, but he preferred to be known as The Duke, a name he'd given himself, imagining a life grander than the one he had. His father was a fly boy, taking his aircraft all over the world for the army, and had died in World War I, leaving his mother in Chicago alone and without any family and no money to return to Wyoming. She gave birth to her child, and had raised him on her own, working two factory jobs to keep them housed and fed. She died when The Duke was five, and the boy was taken in by a cousin on his father's side. The Duke was at least moderately well liked at school, and Zuko knew his son, Kurzu, had played with him on several occasions. Kurzu invited The Duke over, and Katara had served them milk and brownies, then sat in the window and watched them play outside. Zuko _knew_ The Duke. The boy lucked out on the school; his cousin lived on the fringes of the school district, and by default, The Duke went to the same school as Zuko's own children.

As far as Zuko was concerned, the most unfortunate thing that could have happened to The Duke was being taken in by his cousin, and indeed, that's what led to the boy's senseless death. Zuko rounded the corner, casting his eyes about at moving shadows as he walked down his block and toward his house. The Duke's benevolent cousin was Haru, "The Moustache," a mobster. Zuko's face settled into a deep scowl. Any child could have a promising future, but not so long as they were stuck under the thumb of the mob. Haru played at being big cheese, but he was nothing compared to bigger gangsters like Smiling Aang, The Governor, and the Bei Fongs. Those were _real_ gangsters with systems and codes of honor and conduct, with enforcers and people to run payroll. They _never_ would have let one of their children be gunned down on the way back from school.

He would spit on them all if he could, those fools who thought they were above the law. He'd held Katara as she cried when she found out about The Duke's murder, her entire body shaking as she clutched at his shirt. They'd struggled for three days with how to tell the children that The Duke would be gone forever, that they wouldn't see or hear from him again. They'd debated how to explain that this murder would affect not only their lives, but the entire neighborhood. At seven, Kurzu was better able to understand that The Duke wouldn't be coming back, but the twins were only five, and this concept was less concrete in their minds. As Zuko and Katara sat on the playroom floor and spoke with their children, Zuko had never hated anyone so much. Not even his own father.

Zuko stopped with his hand on the doorknob to his house. It was locked. He rolled his eyes. Of course it would be; he was the one who badgered Katara about making sure it was always locked. He fished his keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door. Inside, he took off his hat and coat, hanging them on the coat rack by the front door. He wiped his feet on the mat before stepping onto the newly polished floor. He sighed. Katara was angry with him again. She only got to polishing every piece of wood in the house when she was angry, and the shine was exceptionally glossy, almost to the point of being dangerous. The children would surely be sliding around on it come morning.

"Katara? I'm home."

Zuko took a few tentative steps into the house, aware that the children were probably sleeping and not wanting to make too much noise.

"I'm in the kitchen," came Katara's clipped reply.

She was bent over a stack of papers, essays in the large, unrefined letters of kindergarteners.

"I thought you wouldn't be staying late again," she said without looking up at him, her mouth a thin line of tension.

Zuko shrugged, pulling out a chair and sitting across from her. "I'm sorry, Kitten. I got—"

"Caught up in the office?" Katara rolled her eyes and almost slammed her hands down on the table before realizing it would make too much noise. "Zuko, you've been saying that every night for the past _month_."

The table was also polished to a high gloss, and Zuko ran his hands over the smooth surface. He could still faintly smell the wax she'd used, no doubt after scrubbing the table several times over. Katara leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed

"There was a raid today on one of The Moustache's properties," Zuko said, pinching his nose. "Of course I had to be there, you know how much this case means to me."

The Duke's murder case was important to him, yes, but he didn't strictly need to be there for the raid. Any evidence found would only be tangential to the case he was still working long after nearly every other detective had given up. Another detective, Jet, had been assigned to the raid, but Zuko didn't trust Jet to be entirely honest with the findings. Jet didn't have the best morals on the force, and Zuko suspected he might have ties to Haru. There was very little concrete evidence for this assumption, but Jet knew things he had no business knowing, things not even other police officers detailed _to_ Haru knew, and there was that persistent murmur that they'd been childhood friends, and had remained in contact through the years.

Katara reached across the table, and Zuko took her hand in his, squeezing it tightly. The diamond on her wedding ring pressed against his hand, and he smiled sadly. It had been a promise of his undying love for her, and more recently, though she didn't know it, it had become a symbol of the promise that he would make her tears go away, that their children wouldn't have to look outside with either fear or longing. She didn't understand why he put so much into this case. She didn't understand that it was never about good guys and bad guys. It was about protecting the ones you loved, protecting the young and the innocent, creating and maintaining order in a world that fought so desperately against it.

"I'm terrified for you," Katara said, her voice trembling. "What do you expect me to do if something happens to you? Your children and I need you here."

"And I will be here for you. Just as soon as this matter is straightened out."

"But will it ever?" Katara squeezed his hand, tugging a little to make sure she had his attention. "These guys have scared everyone to death. Just today, Song said she'd seen men stalking around that new jazz club on State who gave her the heebie-jeebies. It's been six months, and nothing's changed. You don't have any leads—"

"I'm on the verge of something."

Zuko pulled his hand away from Katara. It was a sore spot with him that he had little more information on the case than he did when he started. He hadn't hit a road block until he learned that The Mustache took in The Duke. Suddenly, people got amnesia and couldn't remember where they'd been in the late afternoon when cars of gangsters pulled up and started firing on Haru and his entourage when they were taking The Duke home. It wasn't from lack of trying, and Zuko finally had to stop going door to door himself, relegating that task to beat cops in the area, afraid that he might only make matters worse by lashing out in anger.

"That's what I'm afraid of, Zuko." Katara hugged her arms close to her body, refusing to meet his gaze. "I've _begged_ you—"

"And I am careful. As careful as I can be. You won't be a widow, Katara."

"You can't promise that. I talked to your mother today. She's worried about you, too."

Zuko stood from the table and rubbed his temples. He'd been thinking about The Duke and the murder all day, particularly since the raid. He didn't want to keep arguing with Katara. They'd been down that road already, and he didn't even want to broach the subject of his mother. She'd been worried about him since the day he signed up for the police academy. She would have chosen other, safer roads for her son.

"I'm going to bed. You coming up, Kitten?"

"In a minute," she said, trying to smile. "I'll just finish reading through these essays and I'll be up. Are you going to stop by the children's room?"

"Of course." Zuko bent down and kissed Katara's head as he passed her.

Upstairs, the children were tucked obediently into their beds, and Zuko did his best to be as quiet as possible. He frowned as he sat down on the edge of Kurzu's bed first. He needed them to understand that he was doing this for them more than anyone else. The early mornings and late nights would be a thing of the past the moment he found a way to clear the streets. Even though Kurzu liked to say he was a big boy and that he was too old to be babied, Zuko knew he still enjoyed the attention. He stroked Kurzu's hair and whispered a silent promise that soon he wouldn't have to notice the way his classmates avoided certain topics or no longer stayed to play as late as they once did, even if they only lived across the street.

To Khan, he promised that there would be no more refusals to answer questions. There would be no more telling him he had to stay close to home, and that he couldn't just sit in the yard. Zuko bent down to kiss Khan, and the child stirred in his sleep, but didn't wake up. He'd likely tired himself out during the day, and Zuko made another promise that he'd be there more often. He'd take his boys to the park, and they could play the entire day, just daddy and the boys, and they wouldn't have to worry about getting home before dark.

To Ira, Khan's twin and Zuko's little princess, he promised that she wouldn't have to pretend to be brave, and that it could be real. He promised to his little doll that daddy would always protect her and do his best to keep her safe. As he unclipped the bow from her hair and sat it on the bedside table, Ira's eyes opened just a little.

"Daddy," she whispered, smiling. "I tried to wait for you, but mommy made me go to bed."

She let out a big yawn, and Zuko pulled the blankets tighter around her. For his ferocious little Ira, who wanted to take a bite out of the world, Zuko would make sure it didn't bite back.

"That's ok, doll," Zuko whispered to her. "I'll be here in the morning."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

Satisfied, Ira closed her eyes again and drifted back to sleep. Zuko closed the door softly behind him as he slipped from the children's room and began heading down the hall to his and Katara's bedroom. Zuko stopped with his hand on the doorknob and sighed deeply. For the past week, Zuko had been quietly investigating a lead on a possible motive for the attack. At first, he hadn't been sure whether it was more lead or hunch, but after seeing the raid that afternoon, Zuko was convinced that it firmly planted this little whisper in the field of lead.

Through hidden channels built up and carefully maintained through ten years as a police officer, and the help of an informant on the street and one behind bars, Zuko learned that Smiling Aang was beginning to get bored with his own territory. The city had been enjoying a rather peaceful lull without much confrontation between the cops and the mobsters. Aang's crime family was older than anything Haru could ever hope to create, passed down from father to son, tied by blood through several generations. In contrast, Haru's father, Tyro, had 'inherited' a rather young mob, founded only three generations before, when it landed in Chicago. The last leader had no surviving children, and since Tyro was like a son to this dying old man, he'd left everything, such as it was, to Tyro.

But Aang… His gang was nearly spotless; the wealth was flaunted in abundance, and the only legitimate business he had was an accounting firm, but everyone knew who supplied the liquor at downtown dinner clubs and dance halls. Their mob justice was dealt swiftly and secretly, and the Chicago River was likely littered with those who'd gotten on either his or his father, Gyatso's bad side. They never would have let loose tongues wag like Haru did, leading to this raid; no, this big cheese would smile in your face as he gouged your eyes out with a rusty butter knife, telling you that _he_ was karma, and people always got what they deserved. Smiling Aang looked like little more than a kid, and got his nickname from a brilliant, friendly smile, but that only made things worse when calculating grey eyes looked at you and dealt judgment. If he was getting greedy, then he would attempt to negotiate for what he wanted. If rumors were true, and it _was_ this gang who'd so blatantly opened fire on The Mustache and his allies, then Zuko had better do his best to put them all behind bars before more people died.

That raid at the warehouse proved that Haru was getting ready for a war. He had tommy guns and handguns galore, and bullets enough to outfit an army. There was a fleet of cars with thick glass, and canes and umbrellas with knives in the handles. They were intending to be armed no matter where they went, and that thought had scared Zuko more than he would ever admit to anyone. More than the sheer volume of weapons they'd found, it was the implication that had Zuko taking deep breaths to calm his speeding heart.

No matter how impressive this hoard looked, it was nothing compared to the hoard that the more experienced, better funded, more dangerous, and more respected Smiling Aang would have. That man screamed old money, and the moment Gyatso finally keeled over for good, Smiling Aang would have even more. If this man with the golden smile was preparing for a war, the best thing Zuko could do for his family would be to get them somewhere _far_ away.

But he wouldn't run; if he ran, that would be letting them win, letting them see that they still had the power. If everyone ran, who would be left to put those thugs in their place? The war hadn't started yet, and there was still a chance he could make a difference. They might run to get away from The Mustache and Smiling Aang, but there would always be others like them. Zuko, and the city of Chicago, needed to make a stand.

* * *

><p>Welcome, one and all to my very first AU! This is a gift fic for <strong>AnnaAza<strong> for being my first ever 100th review. Honestly, I never thought I'd _ever_ write anything that would be so popular, or that my fics would be liked by so many people. AnnaAza requested an AU, and 1920s Chicago and mobsters immediately jumped into my head. Let me say that Haru was always going to be a gangster because I could name him The Moustache :D Coming up with the mob names was fun.

I decided to cast Aang as a 'villain' simply because it was the opposite of everything he is in the show. I had this image of him in my mind as a real sinister fellow, and to aid in that interpretation, I wanted him to keep some of his Air Nomad beliefs, though they'd necessarily be twisted around for narrative purposes. Toph became a mob princess because it seemed _right_. *shrugs* Sometimes I just go with how I feel. Technically, Jet should be the leader of the gang, but he wanted to be a cop, so that's what he was...or is he? Dun dun dunnnnn... No, he's a cop.

A small note: everyone's aged up quite a bit (Zuko's 34), with the exception of The Duke. He was always going to be the little boy that got murdered. This is going to be a short fic, and it'll be an interesting ride for all of us. Hope this is good for you, **AnnaAza**!


	2. Chapter 2

The smell of freshly brewed coffee woke Zuko from a troubled sleep. He'd dreamed again about drawing that chalk outline around a child's body, only this time, the child wasn't The Duke. Each time he looked at that destroyed face, the faces of his own children looked back at him, their gold or blue eyes filled with tears, their mouths open forever in a silent scream. These dreams had become routine. Somewhere around two in the morning, Zuko had given up on going back to sleep, but he must have drifted off again. The sun was shining through the curtains, which Katara had opened before leaving the bedroom, the pattern of the lace mirrored on the floor.

When the smell of bacon joined that of the coffee, Zuko quickly rolled out of bed and hopped in the shower. He was struggling with his tie as he trotted down the steps and entered the kitchen, the buttons on his cuffs still undone, and his shirt not tucked in. The children were already seated, pancakes and bacon on their plates, orange juice in their cups, and when they saw him, they all started chattering at once. They leapt from their chairs and ran toward him, but Ira literally pushed her brothers out of the way and launched herself at him.

"I knew it!" she yelled. "I knew I wasn't dreaming, but they didn't believe me." Ira buried her face in Zuko's neck, and he laughed as he held his daughter close.

Zuko knelt to hug his sons, squeezing them to him and savoring the moment, before leading the troop back to the table and getting them seated again.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Katara said, leaning back against the counter. She smiled and held her arms open to him, and Zuko was more than happy to hold her, too. "I knew you needed the sleep, despite what you like us all to believe."

"Well, I can sacrifice a bit of sleep for this—"

Katara silenced him with a kiss, and the children giggled. Zuko melted into her, his hands at her waist and hers on his shoulders. He'd always loved the ease of their intimacy, her ability to make him forget the weight on his shoulders for just a bit. When she pulled away, she began tying Zuko's tie, then smoothed his shirt, tucking into the waistband of his suit pants.

It was good to sit down to a family breakfast, and Zuko and Katara took turns making sure the children ate pancakes with their syrup, and Zuko read through the morning paper, mentioning interesting tidbits to Katara. The children all vied for his attention, telling him of their latest accomplishments, and wanting Katara to show him papers they'd brought home from school with stickers and happy faces and good grades. Zuko missed these moments with his family; he missed wiping Khan's face with a wet towel because he insisted on missing his mouth on most mornings. He missed watching Kurzu do his best to set an example for his younger siblings, wiping his mouth, and sipping his orange juice rather than guzzling it like Ira did.

The sun shone brilliantly into kitchen, a light breeze fluttering the curtains at the window over the sink. It was promising to be a beautiful day, even if the sun did nearly blind them when it glinted off the table.

"Will you be home for dinner?" Katara asked toward the end of the meal. Three eager faces turned to him with large, pleading blue and gold eyes. They bore identical expressions with wide eyes and trembling lips, tiny hands gripping the edge of the table. Ira even made a little whimpering noise.

"Yes," Zuko sighed, shaking his head. "I'll be home for dinner." He bet Katara taught them that.

.O.

They all rode the train into the city together, but when Katara and the children got off at the stop closest to the school, Zuko kept going, heading downtown to the district office. The streets were busy with people going to work, the click of heels against the pavement battling against the cry of newsboys hawking their papers on street corners and the chatter of friends meeting friends at the start of the day. Car horns blared at passing pedestrians, and Zuko strode past them all and pushed open the door to his building, giving a friendly wave to the receptionist.

"Morning, Detective," she said cheerfully. "The Inspector's looking for you."

"Thanks, Jin."

Zuko smiled as he rounded the corner and walked into The Pit, where all the detectives had their desks. When he'd first passed his police exam and been assigned to this district, Zuko's personal relationship with the Police Inspector had caused more than a few problems. For this district, the Police Inspector was his uncle, Iroh, and there were no end to the people who cried patronage and foul play, but Zuko had proven time and again that he'd passed his exam and been assigned to the busiest district on his own merit. He had a long list of accomplishments which earned him a reputation as a man who gets things done. Unlike some of his fellow officers, Zuko didn't even have to go outside the law to accomplish what he wanted.

Zuko scanned the desks as he passed them, mostly empty in the early morning hours between the night shift and the day shift. A few of the other detectives were also arriving, just beginning to settle in and rearrange their desks for the day. He waved at a few he knew, exchanging pleasant greetings with them and asking after families. When he arrived at his desk, Zuko sat his briefcase in his chair and picked up the stack of mail in his inbox, hoping for something promising.

"Hey, buddy," Jet called from across the aisle, his feet propped on his empty desk, and his hands behind his head. A loose cigarette hung from his mouth, the smoke trailing lazily toward the ceiling.

"I don't like you," Zuko replied without looking up from his papers.

If ever there was proof he didn't get special attention, his desk assignment was it. Everyone knew he applied several times a month to have his desk moved away from Jet, and yet he remained seated where he was. Like some half deaf idiot, Jet insisted on talking to him, even though Zuko had gone so far as to lay tape down in the middle of the aisle, instructing Jet not to cross it or let his voice cross it as he tried to address Zuko. One of the more popular office betting pools was how long it would take Zuko to break Jet's nose. The odds weren't terribly favorable for Jet.

"All I was going to say was thanks for helping out with yesterday's raid. Too bad we couldn't get any hooch, though. That stuff pays big for the precinct. Maybe it'd even get the FBI down here, and we wouldn't have to take on beat cop work."

Zuko rolled his eyes as he sat down. Belatedly, he remembered he still had on his coat, and he stood to remove it. "Haru doesn't trade in speakeasies."

"Not that you know of. We didn't think he'd stockpile arms, either, but he did."

Reluctantly, Zuko turned to Jet, who had an eyebrow raised. This was Jet's game. He'd hint at something, like he really wanted to help, but it was often hard to tell if he was just poking fun or being serious. More often than not, Zuko found himself following up on these conversations in the past half a year, on the off chance that Jet was being serious.

"Say, you know The Mustache, right?" Zuko asked Jet, looking off into an adjoining room where beat cops and a few detectives were sorting through yesterday's haul.

One of the secretaries was standing at the front of the group with a clip board, diligently cataloguing everything she was being told about the weapons. Zuko watched as each gun was lifted and inspected, then tagged and handed off to a deputy. They were stockpiling all this evidence, taking it and marking it as if it would do any good. Still, Zuko wrote down a few notes in his notepad. He knew some people he could push and get the trial expedited. Weapons charges could get Haru off the street for a good while, assuming that Haru didn't find some legal loophole and pin the stash on someone else, but what Zuko really wanted was Aang's head on a silver platter.

"Not professionally." The soles of Jet's shoes connected with the tile. "Are you suggesting something?"

Zuko shook his head, allowing himself a smug smile before turning to face Jet. Jet was leaning forward in his chair, his suit jacket draped over the back and his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. A nearly empty pack of cigarettes was on the corner of his desk. Jet was scowling, but this didn't bother Zuko. He wasn't intimidated by Jet. They'd gotten into fights before, and Zuko could hold his own. That stupid cigarette still hung from the corner of Jet's mouth, the ash dropping to the floor despite there being a perfectly good and empty ashtray on the desk near the pack of cigarettes.

"I'm not saying you get in on his capers or anything. Just heard from a bull that you two went to school together or something."

Jet's reaction was interesting. He leaned back in his chair and took a long drag from his cigarette before depositing it in the ashtray. Talk had kicked up around the office about the increased gang activity, and the big cheeses, those even above Iroh, were starting to put the squeeze on the force. All one had to do was whisper about dealings with the mob, and suddenly people were being called in for questioning. Several good cops had been framed that way. The result was that any accusation of connection with the mob was adamantly denied.

"We grew up in the same neighborhood, yeah. But _you_ of all people should know how little that means. Your old man's in jail, and your uncle—_his brother_—put him there." Jet shrugged. "You turned out fine, right? And your doll of a sister?"

Leave it to Jet to toss that back at him. True, his father and his uncle had taken completely different paths, and that _had_ influenced Zuko's decision to become a police officer, but none of that had any business being in Jet's mouth. Zuko narrowed his eyes at the man across the aisle from him. No, having grown up in the same neighborhood did not mean that Jet was working with Haru's mob.

"Look," Jet said, holding his hands up in a pacifying gesture. "I don't like this violence any more than you do. The way that kid was murdered? It almost made me upchuck, and I only saw the pictures. You've got more guts than I do, but the real difference between you and me is that I know when to cut my losses. I've got a family to protect. I'm not letting my kids get caught up in this mess."

Zuko looked up and saw Iroh sitting at his desk. "Still carrying a torch for my sister, huh? I'm sure your wife will be interested to know that," Zuko tossed over his shoulder as he made his way toward the front of the pit.

Jet huffed, scowling and crossing his arms. "You don't know from nothing."

That was petty of him, yes, but Zuko found it hard to care when it came to Jet. Zuko walked to his uncle's desk, rapping his knuckles against the edge. Iroh was busy fussing over a thermos of hot tea, but he gestured for Zuko to have a seat. Zuko stat obediently and waited for Iroh to finish sampling the aroma of his tea.

"Ah, my favorite," Iroh said, wistfully. "Jun made my tea this morning."

He tilted the canister toward Zuko, and when he shook his head, Iroh poured himself a cup and poured in a bit of honey. Iroh took a long drag of his tea before saying anything.

"You are a superb detective, Zuko, an asset to this precinct. That is why I would like to pass along a word of warning."

Iroh put down his cup and looked at Zuko across the desk. Zuko sat straight in his chair, searched his uncle's face for any clues. He hadn't broken any rules or done anything that would cause him to be reprimanded, but dread and annoyance began to pool in his stomach all the same. It was likely another warning to turn his search elsewhere, to ignore the way the gangs were going at each other. On several occasions, Zuko had one detective or another tell him that it would be best to let them kill each other off, then the police could come in and restore order in a city absent of the mob. Zuko had laughed in their faces and called them naïve and said that was little more than wishful thinking, and would get them nowhere.

Zuko was about to speak, but Iroh held up his hand. "Be _very_ careful, Zuko. You've already caught the attention of the Bei Fongs, and I hear you're not far from catching the eye of Smiling Aang. We've got The Moustache on this weapons charge. Do not let your passion blind you to other roads that lead to the same destination."

"I know," Zuko said, a little gruffly. "Everyone keeps telling me that I need to be careful, and I'm being as careful as I can while investigating the _mob_ for _murder_."

"Zuko, please—"

"With all due respect, Inspector, either we do this now, or when we get around to it, it'll be too late."

"You sat that as if you've got something new," Iroh said, raising his eyebrows. The smallest hint of a smile hovered over his face, and his amber eyes looked deep into Zuko's own. Iroh refilled his cup.

"I might have a motive."

Iroh looked off into the room where other cops were sorting through the weapons haul, nodding slowly. For a few long moments, Iroh said nothing. The cops had moved on to the knives now, pulling out handles and measuring the lengths of the blades as that same secretary scribbled as fast as her hand would allow.

"Who're we pinning this on?" Iroh asked.

"Word is that Smiling Aang wants a bigger cut of the city, and The Moustache is in his way. There might have been an attempt at a peaceful negotiation, but I believe the real target that day was The Moustache himself. I got confirmation in my mail this morning that Aang sent irises and forget-me-nots to The Duke's funeral."

Iroh winced, setting his cup down on the desk and steepling his fingers. Zuko didn't need to explain the meaning of the flowers to his uncle; in his pursuit of the perfect tea, Iroh often dabbled in horticulture. He knew that irises were a symbol of death, and that forget-me-nots meant exactly as their name implied. In short, Aang was telling Haru not to forget who caused The Duke's death. Iroh only sat quietly for a few seconds before running his hands through his closely cropped and quickly thinning hair, and returning his gaze to Zuko.

"You be _very_ careful." Iroh dug around his desk until he found a notepad, then began writing. "I'll give you ten cops to help investigate this lead, plus whatever detectives still side with you."

Zuko stood, and was about to head back to his desk, but Iroh reached out and grabbed his forearm, the older man's grip like steel in a display of strength and superiority that Zuko was very familiar with from his days of rebellion.

"I am giving you _two weeks_, but after that, I'm pulling all the support you have for this. All your detectives, all the beat cops, all the funding's going away. We'll get Aang on a lesser charge, but still keep him locked up. I'm not risking your life or your family's lives."

Several detectives walking by had slowed, listening in on the conversation, their ears picking up on the topic of conversation. Everyone knew what Zuko's latest obsession was, and there was often much information sharing between cases. There was hardly a case they dealt with these days that didn't have any ties to one mob or another, though it was often hard to find concrete evidence linking them to the more serious crimes. If there was a mob war coming, then surely the entire precinct would want to know.

"I want these fools, off my street," Zuko said, as if he was the one giving orders.

.O.

The only reason he'd taken a lunch break that day instead of meeting with his new team was because he'd promised to meet Azula for lunch. He'd spent the morning collecting and organizing his team, knowing organization would allow them to cover the most ground in the shortest period of time. He'd handed out assignments and sent them on their way with instructions to report back at the end of the day. Zuko was determined not to squander this last chance.

Azula was sitting in a booth at a restaurant just down the street from the precinct, a lit cigarette dangling listlessly from her fingers. She was staring out the window, looking utterly bored, her cloche hat still on, and her coat and purse piled on the seat next to her. She barely turned her eyes to him as he sat down.

"About time you showed up."

"Not my fault you got here early."

Azula rolled her eyes and took a drag from her cigarette, purposely blowing the smoke in his face. Most days, they got along well, but then there were the days when Azula was in one of her moods.

"How's the family?" Zuko asked, pulling out his own cigarette, if for no other reason than to return the favor.

"I manage to not poison them all with my cooking. Nima's a terror. Her twelfth birthday's coming up and I have to throw this stupid party. Then Illah gets jealous that her sister's getting so much attention." Azula wrinkled her nose. "Why do you have three of them?"

"Your girls aren't that bad, Azula."

"Whatever." Azula waved them away. "I sent them to Ty Lee so I wouldn't have to deal with it. Tell me what's new."

Even though he knew Azula was as far from happy as she could possibly be, it still surprised him just how easily she could blow off her children. True, Azula hadn't wanted to marry Chan, and he was _maybe_ one step above being a bimbo, but for one reason or another, Azula had accepted when Chan proposed. Though she never talked about it, Zuko assumed she was probably pregnant with Nima, leaving her with very little choice. Azula couldn't blame the girls for being born, and while she may have had an excuse with Nima, she didn't exactly have one for why Illah came along two years later.

Zuko rubbed his temples, hoping to stave off another headache. "Uncle wants us by for dinner this week."

"When? I'm meeting with Mai."

Zuko stopped with his fork halfway to his mouth. Azula, Mai, and Ty Lee had been friends since they'd gone to kindergarten together. He had no problem with Ty Lee, other than that she was unnaturally and relentlessly cheery, but Mai had always made him uneasy. He didn't trust her, and he definitely didn't trust her father.

"You know how I feel about her," Zuko said, fixing Azula with a warning stare. "I don't want my nieces around that woman."

By definition, he and Mai were on opposite sides. He was a cop. She was a mob princess, belonging to one of the most powerful crime families in the city. Her father was The Governor, and the only reason he was more powerful than Smiling Aang was because he'd been around longer, and with age had come experience. Zuko hadn't always been worried about Azula associating with Mai, but now that Azula so desperately wanted a way out of the life she'd become trapped in, Zuko was afraid that Mai's lifestyle might begin to seem more and more attractive.

Azula, of course, waved all of this away. "I'll just call Uncle and get the date. He'll spare me the lecture."

From there, their lunch began to descend into a tense silence; no matter how much he wanted to impress on Azula the dangers courted by Mai's life, every word he spoke to her ran the risk of pushing her closer to that danger. This was another reason Zuko needed these gangsters off the streets. As if it wasn't bad enough that they were making his wife cry at night, now they were courting his sister. The courts would have no problem putting her in jail, and prison would not be a good place for Azula.

The bell over the door chimed, and out of habit, Zuko turned to see who'd entered the restaurant. His heart almost stopped. An extremely well dressed man in his early thirties with black hair neatly parted and styled strode in confidently, one hand in his pants pocket, the other stuffing a gold pocket watch in a vest pocket. Behind him was a petite blind woman, her hair cut short and her bangs long and partially covering her eyes in an adaptation of the popular bob hairstyle. The sun glinted off the diamonds and emeralds at her neck when she turned at the sound of the man's voice. He held out his arm to her, but she let out a sharp bark of laughter, shoving him roughly and striding forward. Her pale green dress hung loosely from her, swaying as she walked and whispered money as she passed.

The wait staff rushed to help them, asking if they would like a booth or a table, and the woman gave curt, specific instructions about the placements of the chairs at the table they would be using. Azula noticed Zuko watching, and when she turned, her eyes grew wide. As Zuko watched the man pull out the woman's designated chair, he could see that electric blue tie.

Smiling Aang and Toph Bei Fong were having lunch. Together.

"Zuko, please. Don't be an idiot."

Azula was holding his arm, and when Zuko looked down, he saw that he was holding his knife in his fist, as if he intended to stab somebody. He relaxed his grip, and when he did, so did Azula. He took a few breaths to calm himself. As of now, he had nothing on Aang, and the Bei Fongs weren't even remotely related to this case. Their territory was clear on the other side of the city, and there was plenty of unclaimed space to keep them occupied until Zuko could convince the police in that area to stop being cowards and do something about them.

For now, he had to content himself with the weapons charges against Haru and focus on finding what connecting information he could about Aang. When Zuko looked up, eyes grey like the sky before a storm were looking at him; Aang was leaning down, his mouth near Toph's ear, that trademark smile on his face. It was a brilliantly warm smile, inviting and open, and it would have been pleasant had Zuko not known that many victims had seen that smile before being told that the four winds took care of everyone, giving them what they deserved. This would be right before the person was pushed into the river, their feet encased in concrete.

* * *

><p>Let it be known that Zuko will contemplate rolling out of bed for coffee. Add bacon, and it's a done deal. He'll see you downstairs.<p>

This story was never _not_ going to have Iroh or an Iroh/Ozai rivalry. And if there's Jet, there's got to be some Jetko rivalry, too. Iroh's in a rather difficult position, and he's doing his best not to let his familial love for Zuko get in the way. These guys do need to come down, but taking on the mob tends to mess with your head. To defeat the underhanded, you sometimes have to get underhanded, and it's a very alluring thing, the underworld. Zuko's a good cop with a spotless record, and Iroh would hate to see that destroyed.

So...Azula in this story. Given that it's the 1920s, I think she'd be pressured to marry, and I just can't see her marrying anyone, or at least none of the available characters for this 'verse. I tried _so hard_ not to go into detail about Azula's life as a trapped housewife, and how Mai's lifestyle would seem so super attractive to her. Chan is the guy she kisses in The Beach, if you don't know. He's kind of a ditz, which doesn't aid Azula's feeling at home. It's a plot bunny, though, but if I ever get around to doing it, it'll be way at the bottom of my list because I seriously need to get to work on that Aangzula that's been on the back burner for a long time. In a perfect universe, I'd also write from Smiling Aang's POV, because I think there's a lot to be explored there, and it could get really creepy. Aang doesn't have his tattoos and Zuko doesn't have his scar in this 'verse, but I did give Aang a signature electric blue tie that he'd wear with all suits, regardless of clashing colors or patterns. **Maybe** I could do a series of one shots in this 'verse. Maybe.


	3. Chapter 3

For the first time in years, Zuko found himself thinking of his father and how wrong things had gone. Zuko and Azula were still young when their father was sent to prison, but Ozai's absence hadn't erased the vague feelings that lingered in Zuko's mind. He remembered raised voices and tears, feeling powerless when he saw his father hovering like some towering monster over his mother as she lay fuming on the floor. He remembered angry golden eyes, like molten lava, turned against him, obscenities yelled, accusations shouted, blows thrown. Whenever Ozai was around, there was a foreboding feeling in the house, like doom to come, never to be averted; Zuko had learned to tread carefully, to hide in closets or under beds just to avoid this man. He hated feeling powerless.

After seeing Aang and Toph Bei Fong in the restaurant together, Zuko was on high alert for the rest of the day. Usually vigilant about his surroundings, he paid even more attention to the figures around him when he left the office and boarded the train that would take him home. He eyed everyone with the gaze of a detective, looking for hidden actions, swift movements gone undetected by those who didn't know better. He kept watch for groups of young men standing idly on street corners, watching people pass by, sharing knowing looks or nods of their heads. Zuko saw their suspicious behavior everywhere. Growing in him was an undeniable urge to fight back, to hit the mob where it hurt and remind them that they were not above the law. He just wasn't sure how far he could take that feeling, but he was sure he'd take it somewhere. Seeing Toph and Aang together was like a promise of impending doom. Zuko effortlessly fell back on old techniques his uncle taught him when he was at the academy.

Iroh had been the one to intervene in his family, at first attempting to convince Ozai to back off without resorting to his badge. It quickly became clear that Ozai had no time for his brother's words or warnings. Zuko remembered seeing Ozai lash out at Iroh, but Iroh was quicker and stronger, and Ozai might have been drunk at the time, and Iroh managed to subdue Ozai so quickly and so easily. When he saw his uncle pin his father to the floor, threatening to dislocate his shoulder should he put up too much of a struggle, Zuko had made up his mind just who he was going to be like when he got older. Iroh had become a hero in the eyes of a small child, and that's why Zuko never cared that Iroh was the one to arrest and charge Ozai with weapons trafficking, money laundering, assault, and theft.

Zuko pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping to stem off a headache as the train rattled along on its tracks, people and bags jostling each other in the mid evening rush. He'd brought all his case notes home with him; the pictures, witness statements, and lists of suspects were stuffed into his briefcase, and he planned to spend a bit of time before bed going over things. He knew there was a plausible and strong connection between Aang and the murder, if only he could search hard enough. Weapons charges would keep Haru off the street, but that alone wouldn't be enough. Zuko needed a more serious charge to put these men away for any length of time. They needed to be gone so long that the world forgot about them, sent to the world's most secure prisons where they'd have no chance of escape or redemption.

The man staring at him from the other end of the train was making it a little hard to concentrate, however. Zuko discreetly took note of his clothing and facial features. He listened for any conversations the man might have, but he remained silent. He was scowling, as if concentrating desperately on some fact, his brows low on his forehead. Zuko sized him up; the guy was easily double Zuko's size, and if it came to a fight, which Zuko was sure it would, he would have a hard time of it. The guy was practically bulging out of his coat. The poor fit led Zuko to believe he didn't belong to either of The Big Three: Smiling Aang, the Bei Fongs, or The Governor. Which just left Haru. Zuko relaxed a little, though not much.

He still got off the train at his stop, watching the man from the corner of his eye and seeing him exit as well. Zuko sighed. This was a prime example of why Haru would never be in The Big Three. It was an exclusive club, entry only granted to the most ruthless, the most cutthroat. Importantly, you had to stay out of jail, and that would be fairly hard for Haru to do if his people were so obvious in tracking others. Zuko turned onto a block he didn't normally take, hoping to lead the man further away from his family. He still had his cuffs in his pocket, and he could call for backup after he'd subdued the man.

As Zuko had expected, the streets were devoid of many people. A few scurried quickly from one place to the next, always seeking the safety provided by closed and locked doors. The man even coughed a few times, and Zuko smiled to himself, turning onto a street with shops recently shut down for the night, intending to double back to the train station. A shadow came out of an alley and tackled Zuko, surprising him and dragging him across the concrete into an alley. Zuko cursed his carelessness as he pushed up against his attacker, struggling to regain air that was forced from his lungs when he fell.

"We're here to deliver a message," one of the men said, the voice not quite close to Zuko's ear. "There are better things you could be doing with your time."

Someone was holding Zuko's face against the concrete sidewalk, grinding his cheek against the rough pavement, a knee in his back, and Zuko grunted, throwing his weight to the side and knocking the man off balance, catching him in the side with an elbow. He tried to assess his surroundings quickly, looking for the big man who'd been following him, but he was nowhere to be seen. There were seven of them total, and they were blocking off the alley's exits. The grim faces looking at him showed there was no satisfaction in this deed; perhaps they understood that Zuko wielded his own power, and there were far more on his side than on theirs. Zuko _hoped_ that's what was going through their heads. They might go easy on him if they feared retribution.

"Hey." It was the one who'd spoken earlier. "We could let you go, but we've got orders."

Zuko turned to face the man, narrowing his eyes. "So what do you intend to do? Keep me locked up somewhere? You don't have the guts to bump me off."

The men stepped closer to him, and Zuko tensed, balling his fists, ready to take a swing at the nearest guy and make a run for it if he had to. He picked the speaker as his target; he seemed to be the momentary leader of the group, and he was also the smallest. This wasn't a fair fight, anyway, and Zuko wasn't above using size to his advantage. It was pure tactics.

"Your name," Zuko demanded.

He'd pegged the guy correctly as the leader. He laughed, and all the others laughed. There was no real mirth in their voices, not in the way there would have been if the Bei Fongs had gotten to him. He also noted that they were unarmed; a clear sign that they weren't The Governor's men. Zuko knew they used a signature knife in all their fights, and they weren't above slashing up a cop. Haru's men tended to be more cautious, perhaps knowing their boss couldn't protect them against bigger foes. They would understand the danger.

"This bull here thinks he's got something on us!" His laughter was a loud, cackling thing, and it echoed in the silence of the night.

Zuko looked around him, a small smirk on his face. "Then you haven't heard? I _do_ have something on you, and he's not coming back from this."

This quieted the group, but no names were offered. If they got away, they wouldn't act without instruction from Haru, and Haru was already going down on weapons charges. The speaker stepped forward, and Zuko noted the tension in the man's body. He was going to strike; he was too tightly wound not to, and Zuko braced himself for a blow he knew was coming. Once the leader struck, he'd be at the mercy of them all. He couldn't fight off seven men at once. He wasn't that strong.

"Look, copper. You don't seem to comprehend your situation. We're telling you to back off Haru, and you're going to do it."

Zuko shrugged. "Fine." That wasn't his target anyway.

Growling, the man let loose, throwing a wide punch, but Zuko ducked, kneeing the man in his stomach, but not sparing time to watch him go down. Immediately, he turned to his left and sent a powerful punch to the jaw of a man who stood stunned and immobile, but these were the only hits Zuko was able to get off before those standing behind him joined the blooming fray. They shoved and punched and kicked, blows connecting with head and back and ribs, and when the leader had his breath back, he kicked Zuko a few times for good measure, too.

Zuko felt their shoes digging into his skin as he spat blood, their blows sending vibrations through his whole being. Their punches connect with his face and his stomach, and he tried to move with them, to lessen the impact of the blow, but when he fell, the picked him up and held him, his movement restricted. His thoughts went to Katara and the children, the promises he'd made them, and he questioned whether he would even be able to keep it. Fear settled in the pit of his stomach, blotting out the growing force to the pain; what if they'd gone to his house? He'd been followed before, and Zuko was sure that Haru and his men knew where he lived. What if they'd gotten to Katara?

Renewing his struggle, Zuko thrashed wildly from side to side, succeeding in breaking the grip of the one holding him. Turning sideways, Zuko plowed through three of the men, using his shoulder as a battering ram just like his uncle taught him, and finding some freedom at the mouth of the alley. Zuko gulped air, his lungs burning, and his heart pounding. He needed to get to Katara, to save her and the children.

Slowing only to pick up his briefcase, Zuko dashed for his house, looking over his shoulder to see if he was being followed. They must have successfully delivered their message, or found Zuko's revelation more unnerving. They did not follow him. Even in flight, Zuko would not let his guard down, not again. He was a four year old boy again, watching the shadows for that foreboding presence, looking for the heroes that would swoop in and subdue the evil that lurked in the night.

He was that hero, and if he couldn't do the saving, then who would?

Few of his neighbors owned cars, and when Zuko saw the space in front of his house filled with cars, he sped up as much as he could, now breathing with his mouth open, searching out Katara's form among the crowd that was gathered.

"Katara?" he called.

As he got closer, Zuko recognized the faces, but this didn't lessen his anxiety and his fear. They were cops, people he'd just left at the office, and they were looking at him, concerned and confused, but Zuko pushed past them all. Their shouts were incomprehensible to him; he needed to see that Katara was alright, mounting the steps to his house three at a time, his heart burning in his chest. The front door was once again unlocked.

"Katara."

He dropped his briefcase and held his arms open to her, and she practically threw herself at him, clutching him and holding him close, not caring for, or not noticing, the blood on his face and shirt. Zuko paid no mind to the soreness in his back or stomach, pulling Katara as close as was physically possible and closer, needing to feel her and to know that she was unharmed. Her eyes were red, and as they held each other, she cried again. Zuko rubbed her back and ran his scratched and bloody hands through her hair. He did not bother telling her that things would be alright.

"I was so scared, Zuko," she whispered against his chest.

"I'm fine. They didn't hurt me too badly."

Katara pulled away from him slightly, and Zuko saw the surprise on her face. She hadn't registered that he'd been hurt, and Zuko felt his muscles began to shake as the adrenaline tried to make up its mind about coming or going. He guided them to the couch, his limbs heavy, one arm around her shoulder. He felt nauseous.

"What happened?" he asked, just as confused as Katara.

Gently, she touched his bloody lip and ran her fingers over the scrapes on his cheeks, fear making her tremble. Zuko grabbed her hand, squeezed it, letting her know that he would be alright.

"They followed me," Katara said, her voice thick and quiet.

Zuko tensed, unconsciously pulling away from her. "Who?"

"From the sounds of it, I'd say it was Aang. Or one of his Blue Arrows."

Iroh came in from the kitchen, holding a tray with three cups of tea on it. Jasmine from the smell. Zuko looked between his uncle and his wife helplessly. He had ignored their warnings, focused so much on his righteous cause to bring peace back to their neighborhood. Zuko looked away from them. His efforts had backfired, and now he had two different mobs hunting him and his family. Katara stood and left the room. Moments later, Zuko could hear the water running in the bathroom, and the cabinets opening and closing. He clenched his fists, anger resurfacing. This had gone on long enough. If they wanted to escalate this war, he would escalate it.

"Nephew—"

"If you're going to tell me that I should have listened to you, don't bother," Zuko said gruffly. "I already know."

"What's done is done," Iroh said, sliding a mug closer to Zuko. "The children are safe with their grandfather. I sent them with an escort to have a little visit with Hakoda."

Zuko nodded, but he couldn't help a bitter laugh. "Just this afternoon, I felt I was on to something."

"Nephew…"

Iroh paused, looking at Zuko as if not seeing him clearly, like there was a haze in front of him. Iroh shook his head, then sipped from his own mug. When Katara came in again, she had bandages and clean cloths, and she began cleaning Zuko's wounds. The three sat in silence for a while, though Iroh would occasionally lean forward as if he had something to say.

"I'm leaving a few officers here," Iroh finally said. "They'll patrol the area just in case those goons decide to come back. Who got to you?"

"Haru," Zuko answered. "Wanted to send me a message. Apparently, they didn't know that we had something on them. I guess Haru's trying to keep it quiet."

"That's ridiculous," Katara said, frowning. "It's been all over the papers."

"Maybe they didn't realize how serious it was, but my bet is that they weren't high enough in that family to warrant being told too much," Zuko offered.

"Are you still intent on going after Aang?" Iroh asked.

"Absolutely."

"Then I might suggest… You won't like hearing this, but as your superior, I _have_ to say this, Zuko. There are other ways to bring him down. I would not suggest a direct confrontation."

Zuko looked away, grinding his teeth. He knew Iroh's opinion on the subject, and maybe he was being stubborn, but Zuko wanted to take these fools down for a _real_ charge, not something like tax evasion that would get them out in a matter of years or months. He wanted them sent away for life.

"I'm calling in the FBI," Iroh said, setting his mug down.

"Then you're pulling your officers off the mob cases—?"

"Katara, you can't be serious!" Zuko pulled away from his wife. She wouldn't betray him like this. She knew how hard he worked.

"This is stupid, Zuko," she said, taking his face in her hands. "They _beat you up_. I won't let—"

"Perhaps both of you have forgotten why we're even doing this," Zuko said, shaking free of Katara's grasp. "Perhaps you've forgotten just how scared everyone is, how much things have changed—"

"Things will _always_ change, nephew. You cannot hope to stand there against the darkness and keep it at bay forever."

"I never said—"

"Then let your actions match your words, Zuko."

Iroh was leaning forward, sitting at the edge of the couch, his brows furrowed and his face earnest. Zuko looked away. All he wanted was peace. Peace and the chance to erase a bit of fear that was held in the night. It was his job. It was reason he _chose_ this job. He could have stayed a beat cop, he could have moved further up the ranks. He had the credentials, the experience, the support, the record to back up becoming an Inspector in his own right. He stayed a detective for this reason. He wanted to be out there, wrangling the crime and beating it into submission as best he could. He never thought he would be able to hold everything back, but he was charged with keeping the worst of it in check.

"You gave me two weeks," Zuko reminded Iroh, almost pleading for Iroh to remember and honor this deadline.

"But this changes everything, Zuko," Katara said, tugging his sleeve. "I had to send our _children_ away so they wouldn't get caught in this mess. You _can't_ think that's ok."

"Remember, nephew, there are always other paths in life. If you want them off the streets, there are several ways to accomplish that. You have never cared about fame and glory. Don't start caring, now."

Fine. There _were_ other ways.


	4. Chapter 4

"I talked to Katara the other day. I'm thinking about heading over and helping Hakoda with the children."

"You don't have to do that, mom."

Zuko sighed and dropped his forehead to the kitchen table. He contemplated holding the phone away from his ear so he wouldn't have to listen to her tell him the same thing everyone else was telling him. Give it up. He was done giving it up. Iroh had said there were other roads, and Zuko could see them clearly.

"Nonsense. I haven't seen my babies in a while. Or maybe I should come visit you. Heard you had a rough time of it last week."

"Don't worry. Katara's fussing enough for the both of you."

There was a long silence, and Zuko pulled the phone away to check that the cord was still plugged in. He knew his mother worried, and she just wanted her children to be safe, but Zuko wanted the same thing for his children. They just had different ways of ensuring that safety, and neither way had proven to be terribly successful.

"Mom?"

"I understand why you do it, Zuko. Believe me, I understand."

"What?" Zuko bolted upright. Given his mother's adamant pleading that he remain safe and as much away from harm as possible, he hadn't ever expected her to say something like that.

"If I had the power… You know I follow everything you do in the papers, if I can, and…" Ursa sighed heavily, and something shuffled on her end of the line. "Weapons charges? I don't believe it's the best you can do."

Zuko ground his teeth, gripping the phone tighter. "It's not. I _know_ I can do more."

"Then you have to do it—"

"It's not that simple—"

"Nothing ever is, Zuko, but these cretins don't deserve to be on our streets," Ursa said, her voice dark and cold, coming across the line as a barely audible growl. "The others don't know. You and I know, Zuko. We _know_ what they're like. _We_ know that they do not stop."

Her words were like a soothing balm on an aggravated wound, and Zuko let them wash over him and sink into him. They rarely talked about Ozai and the effect he had on their family, but when they did, Ursa's anger and resentment always rose to the surface, and he'd suspected these emotions were what made her keep her silence. They had been on the front lines as Ozai invited one unsavory character after another into their front room, their scars and bullet riddled bodies filling a young Zuko's nightmares, their guns laid out on the dinner table in his mind, sitting on plates like a macabre, deathly meal.

There was a reason they didn't talk about those years. In those years, they had been powerless. Ozai ignored the looks on his children's faces, and when Ursa stood up to him, he always retaliated with closed fists. He was bigger than they were, stronger, and his resources were better. Though Ursa was terrified for Zuko when he joined the academy, he had imagined he saw a faint glint in her eyes. Zuko had convinced himself that it was pride in this great accomplishment of his, pride at seeing her son avoid his father's footsteps. Ursa's words now said to him that this had never been his imagination. Mixed in with that pride had been joy in knowing her son would be dealing retribution. They were not powerless anymore. Zuko would not let them make him feel that way again.

"I am _so_ proud of you," Ursa said.

For him, that badge meant he had power. He would not have to stand around and wait for things to happen. He was that catalyst. He would change things.

"I know, mom."

"Iroh can't understand, but bless his heart for trying to do the right thing. What does he want you to do now that the papers are talking about the raid? I bet he's telling you to back off. When will the warrant be served?"

Zuko gave voice to the first syllable of the first word, but caught himself. Though he knew his mother would _never_ tell Haru or any other criminal information that might help them escape, he still needed to keep that information quiet. There were enough holes in the police force as it was. If Haru got away, it would not be because of anything Zuko did. They had a hard enough time trying to catch him. It stirred something in Zuko to hear his mother talk so openly and so passionately about justice. A part of him felt vindicated, that there was someone who agreed with him. Even if his mother had no power over the police, her one voice could be the voice of many within the city who've had enough. They'd been silenced by rampant acts of violence, and perhaps enough was finally enough.

"Everyone wants me to back off," Zuko said instead. "They keep saying there are other things I can do, but mom—"

"They fight dirty, sweetheart. Sometimes we can't help getting a little dirty, too, when they start flinging mud…"

In his mind, those many voices symbolized by Ursa's one voice called to him. They asked him how far he was willing to go to protect them. The answer was too ready on his tongue.

.O.

Zuko shouldn't have let his mother's words affect him so much. He knew she was speaking from her pain and her fear, and those weren't exactly emotions that lent themselves to rational thinking. Sitting at his desk, absently smoking a cigarette, Zuko couldn't help but play those seductive words in his head. Sometimes, a little dirt touched those who otherwise managed to stay clean.

There were days when it seemed the only cops who managed to get anything done were the ones whose hands were caked with mud. Those were the ones with the connections to the underworld and had friends in "the know," those cops weren't afraid to turn to the mob to get their work done. The idea had floated in his mind so many times before, but ultimately, he pulled away, designating that as a line he didn't want to cross. He would not become a crooked cop, he told himself. He couldn't understand how so many would risk so much just to lock away a few people. The past six months had turned his universe inside out; he saw the world in stark relief, now, shadows highlighted where they'd remained dark before. He understood frustration not only with the bureaucracy, but with the people they were supposed to help. The residents were the ones determined to keep quiet. They were the ones determined to doom themselves.

Zuko looked across the aisle at Jet. There was surely no small amount of dirt on Jet's suit, and yet he remained a working part of the force. He was currently surrounded by friends, laughing and joking, unaware of brewing darkness. Jet was still a popular and well liked guy. Zuko snorted. There were so many corrupt officers on the force, and those were the ones with the connections to remain above the law. Those same connections were within his grasp. All he had to do was make one phone call. Ten minutes on the phone could change the course of this brewing war. Ten minutes could possibly stop this madness before it started. The idea was so very tempting.

Putting out his cigarette in an ashtray overflowing with butts and ashes, Zuko stood and headed to his uncle's desk at the head of The Pen. It was for his family that he had remained clean. What would Katara say if he told her what he was thinking about doing? She'd probably threaten to hurt him if he even considered stepping back into the shadows. He could spend a thousand years explaining things to her, and still she would beg him not to do it. Zuko balled his hands into fists. They'd had to send their _children_ away. That's what being straight did to you. He couldn't stand back and let his children or his wife die. He loved them too much. He needed them too much.

As he walked down the aisle between the desks, other detectives turned to look at him. The bruises were only beginning to fade, and his side did still hurt sometimes, but he walked with his shoulders back, wearing his bruises as a badge of honor. Every morning he saw those marks, he let that hatred coil a bit tighter in his stomach, knowing just what it would do, hoping it would make him hate those mobsters enough that he wouldn't care _how_ they fell, so long as they did.

"Ah, Zuko, I was hoping you would come to see me." Iroh gestured to the chair across from his desk, and Zuko sat. "The guys from the FBI are coming in tomorrow, and I'd like you to be one of the leads on their team. You've worked the closest with the mob cases, and your knowledge will be invaluable."

Zuko nodded. It was a high honor, and he knew he deserved it. But he also knew his uncle.

"What do you want in exchange for this new position?"

Iroh laughed genially, resting his folded hands on his stomach. "There are days when I wonder why you haven't moved further along by now." Iroh cleared his throat. "You always find a way to remind me that being a detective is important work, and I'm glad you're still doing it."

"Don't bullshit me."

When Iroh wanted, he could be direct and to the point. When he wanted to cushion a blow for Zuko, he always turned to flattery. Zuko took a deep breath and gripped the arms of the chair.

"We're investigating them, yes," Iroh said, "but not for what you would like. Lesser charges—"

"No," Zuko said, standing.

"Don't be stupid!" Iroh slammed his hands down on the desk, drawing the attention of nearby detectives. "What do you hope to do, Zuko? Hm? I've been working Chicago since before you were _born_, and I managed to stay alive by knowing my limits."

Zuko turned his back to Iroh, but he did not leave. If Iroh could manage to convince him that there was a way to dismantle Chicago's most dangerous mobs without resorting to a direct attack, Zuko would be willing to listen. He'd even go along with the plan if it showed any sign of being effective. So far, Iroh and the FBI had given him nothing, no viable plan, and nothing they were currently doing managed to make any dent in organized crime. They were still drowning in this mess.

"Knowing your limits is a sign of maturity, wisdom, and respect for your position. Knowing when to pull back and when to push forward is the sign of a good leader. I will give you the chance to turn down this position at the head of Operation Soap Bubbles—"

"Operation _what_?"

"—but should you turn it down, Zuko, understand that these cases will no long be your responsibility. You walk away from this, and you'll lose control of _everything_ you've spent the past six months working on."

Zuko pinched the bridge of his nose, turning to face Iroh with narrowed eyes.

"So this is your way of controlling me?"

"No, this is my way of making sure you don't get killed. I happen to love your wife and your children, and I don't want to see them mourn your death. I buried one son. I will not bury another."

Iroh matched Zuko's frustrated gaze with one of pain and pleading. Zuko couldn't stand to look at that face for too long, and in the end, he was the first to turn away. So much was at stake.

"Promise me you will think on it. I'll give you the week, and until then, I'll be briefing the incoming FBI agents. How far are you willing to take this, detective?"

.O.

Dinner that night was a quiet affair between him and Katara. The house seemed overly large and empty without the children, and it was plain that Katara was suffering because of it.

"I think I should call to check up on them," she said, standing and leaving her plate mostly untouched.

Zuko stood and pulled her against him as she reached out for the phone. She fisted his shirt in his hands and took deep breaths.

"You've already called three times in the past hour."

"I know, but Ira—"

"Your father knows how to handle Ira. He took care of both you and Sokka, remember?"

Katara laughed softly, resting her head against his shoulder. These were the moments that Zuko enjoyed best with his wife. He loved having Katara against him, he loved knowing that he could always protect her. There had been far too few of these moments lately. A deadly tension was rising between them that started six months ago, and would threaten to drive a wedge between them. It was all because Smiling Aang got greedy and decided to gun down Haru after a failed business deal.

"Maybe you could take some time off work and visit the children at your father's?" Zuko offered.

"And leave you here alone?" Katara asked, pushing Zuko back so she could look in his face. "One of the reasons I'm staying is that you'll have to come home and look at me every night. I know that if you have to see me and what this is doing to me, you'll think more about what _you're_ doing."

Zuko laughed, pulling Katara against him again. "So, in short, you're manipulating me."

"Yes."

Rather than argue, Zuko kissed her, because he wanted to have Katara around to manipulate him. She was a physical reminder of that line and the costs of crossing that line, and while she did remind him that it was a dark path, she also gave him reason to push down that path.

Katara threw her arms around Zuko's neck, holding him tightly as if he was trying to get away from her. Her body fit perfectly against his; they'd spent years fitting effortlessly into each other's lives. They knew every curve and every muscle, just the right way to hold and to touch, and as Katara deepened the kiss, Zuko was reminded of every way in which Katara knew how to sink her hand into his chest and grab his heart, to tug one way or another. He pulled her closer against him, moving his kisses down her neck, loving that breathy sigh, needing more of her.

His mother's words were seductive because he wanted to be the kind of person who would pursue justice at all costs. Zuko wanted results, and to deliver heads on platters. He wanted to be able to send a message that said no one could mess with him or his city.

As Katara pulled away and smiled at him, though, the love in her eyes tugged at his heart until he admitted that every step backward he took would be tinged with pain, guilt, and self hate. There was no way he would be able to keep that from Katara. They'd shared so much of themselves, and it was so natural between them. That secret would weigh heavily on him, and it would make him choose which one he wanted more: his family or his city. For her and for their children, Zuko needed to find a middle ground.

Zuko ran his thumb over Katara's lips before kissing her again, holding her against him as tightly as possible without aggravating the bruises on his side.

"I love you so much, Katara."

.O.

The telephone ringing downstairs awoke them early the next morning.

It was Azula. Mai's father, The Governor, heard that Zuko was going after Smiling Aang, and she wanted to talk.

He was stupid to put on his coat and head out the door.

.O.

"I'm only doing this as a favor to Azula," Mai said, sitting across from Zuko at an out of the way coffee shop.

Mai was a perfect picture of Victorian elegance, the exact opposite of many of the women Zuko saw on a daily basis. Mai embraced the restrictive clothes and long skirts, her bangs cut sharply at eyebrow level, her hair twisted into a neat bun on top of her head. Not a strand of hair was out of place, even when she walked into the coffee shop followed by a stiff breeze. She'd taken command of the little shop the moment her foot crossed the threshold, and people were at her side, accepting her coat and gloves, ushering her to the table where Zuko waited, even pulling out her chair for her.

"This conversation will be strictly between you and me. I am not here to act as a representative for my father. You are not here to act as a representative for Police Inspector Iroh, the City of Chicago, Cook County, or the police district. Are we agreed?"

Mai stirred her coffee with sharp, precise movements. Her voice was quiet and flat, her eyes cutting and searching. Her eyes did not leave him as she tapped her spoon once on the side of the mug before setting it on the saucer with a faint clink. Zuko watched as she brought the pure white porcelain cup to her mouth, painted a bold red. As she returned her cup to the saucer, she smiled at him, a closed-lipped smile, her eyes narrowing flirtatiously, just a bit.

"We are agreed," Zuko said, stirring his own coffee just to have something else to look at. "Nothing you say in this conversation will ever make its way to the police. You have my word."

"Good," Mai said. "I hear you are a _very_ trustworthy man. I will take your word."

Her voice was low and gravelly, sometimes making him want to clear his own throat. There were other people in the restaurant, but theirs was a private booth in a private room, blocked from all prying eyes. It was necessary to ensure secrecy, something they'd both insisted on. Zuko hadn't even told Katara what Azula's phone call was about. As far as she knew, he was going into the office earlier, and might stay late. It was nothing unusual. Guilt did try to settle in Zuko's stomach, right next to a bit of shame, because he knew what he was doing was wrong. It was as if that line was thick and red, right down the middle of the table, and he and Mai were talking across it.

"It wouldn't be good for your father's reputation if it was known you were talking to the police," Zuko said, watching for Mai's reaction.

"No," she said, smiling. "It wouldn't be good for him at all. But then, I'm not talking to the police."

The corner of Zuko's mouth twitched, and he raised his cup to her. She did the same.

"So. Azula says _you_ wanted to talk to me. Why?"

"I am not above using _all_ of my connections to my advantage," Mai said. "You and I have a common enemy."

Zuko scoffed. "I'm going to go ahead and assume that you're not talking about The Moustache. He would hardly be a threat to you."

"Your assumption would be correct. There are rules to our world, Zuko. I am sure you understand this."

The longer the conversation went on, the more uncomfortable Zuko became. He reached in his pocket and felt the cool metal of his cigarette case and grasped onto it desperately, holding it like a talisman. It was Katara in his pocket, and he wanted that reminder of all he was fighting for. There was a coldness in Mai's demeanor that threatened to reach out and grab him from across the table. It was in the way her eyes met his, the way her mouth stretched into a smile, like a bloody gash across her pale face. It was in those precise, controlled movements. Her distance made her retreat further across that line, showing Zuko just how far he'd go if he took that first step.

He was not dealing with Haru and his third rate gangsters.

"I understand that every world has rules," Zuko said, lighting his cigarette. He kept the lighter in his fist, ran his thumb over the monogrammed 'Z.'

"Then you will understand the importance of rules and how…angry…people get when those rules are so blatantly _ignored_." Mai placed her hands on either side of her cup and leaned forward, the tip of her nose crossing that invisible barrier. "There was order when we dealt with Gyatso. Aang is young and foolish, and has no respect for boundaries. I blame it on his mother and his generally poor upbringing. Gyatso should have been sterner with him."

Mai's nostrils flared, and Zuko could have sworn the corner of her thin red lips was pulled up, ever so slightly, in the faintest hint of a snarl. When she leaned back, Zuko released a breath he hadn't meant to hold. He blinked slowly, holding that monogrammed lighter even tighter in his fist. He had been trained to see and read between the lines, and Zuko could feel the invisible barrier keeping him in his seat; it kept him from standing and walking over to Mai's side. While her eyes searched his, he probed deeper into hers. There was no middle ground here. The Governor had an agenda. _That_ was why he'd authorized this meeting. Azula's name had only been the key that unlocked the door to this possibility.

"Haru's territory is not Aang's to take. It would go to us first, then the Bei Fongs. _Then_ Aang and his stupid Blue Arrows. He is insolent and foolish to think he could so blatantly overstep his boundaries, and if the Bei Fongs are helping him, I will have their heads, too."

Mai gripped the edge of the table, and the corner of Zuko's mouth turned up in a sarcastic smile. Before him were several paths. He'd taken one step and the shadows had been banished, and now he could see so clearly. From one, Katara and the children smiled, their arms open to him, welcoming him. From another, Iroh and his FBI agents waited, their badges and official documents ready. The path he was standing in front of now was covered in blood. He could see the blood on Mai's hands, red as her lips, dripping from her hair, staining her white satin blouse.

"Should you choose to work with us, my father will share information with you that could put '_Smiling_' Aang away for a very long time," Mai said, leaning back. "We will then move in and restore order."

"And you expect the Bei Fongs to be ok with this?"

Zuko regarded Mai from the corner of his eye, doing his best not to look directly at her, as if she was some mythical beast that could stop his heart with one glance. It was that smile, he decided. That cold, deadly, red-lipped smile. He wondered who really ran The Governor's gang. In all the big three, the old regime was getting older, dying out. Soon, a new power would come to rise in the city, and these were a new breed of gangsters, not afraid to shed a little blood.

"Oh," Mai said, leaning back and resting her hands in her lap. "It's not for the Bei Fongs to like at all. If they had _any_ part in Aang's would-be takeover, they shall just have to be next on our list, hm?"

* * *

><p>Ok, so this became a really long chapter, and a lot has happened in it. Zuko has had a crisis, reaffirmed his love for Katara and the children, another gangster has been introduced, Zuko has come to a realization. I'm loving the chance to recast some of our favorite characters as mobsters :D Mai struck me as perfect for a mob princess and a woman of the 20s who completely rejects the flapper image and is quite happy in the more restrained Victorian attitude of the years before. I actually think this works to her advantage for intimidation factors. I also realize that this story is sorely lacking in the Zutara department, and that I should make up for that in the coming chapters.<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

"Have you lost your mind?"

"So, because I decide to do what I need to do to keep this city safe, I must be crazy?"

"I can't believe you. I can't believe you would do that."

Zuko watched Iroh pace behind the desk, alternately running his hands over his hair and cursing, shoving his fists in his pockets. He broke his word to Mai, not that she would ever find out about it. What to do about The Moustache would be the least of their problems if The Governor decided to wage war against Smiling Aang and the Bei Fongs.

By the end of that meeting, Zuko had been surer of his course of action than he'd been of so many things before. He knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he could not cross the line and stand at Mai's side. It would mean losing too much, and as he held the lighter Katara had given him in his hand, the world had been illuminated. Meeting with Mai was a necessary step, and nothing Iroh could say would ever make him regret it. He needed to look in the face of evil to remind himself just how different he was. His mother's words were spoken out of anger, pain, and a strong desire for revenge, but neither of them had known what that lifestyle was really like. There was a reason those men his father brought home carried guns and scars; they were competing against the higher ups, those with real power who posed a real threat. They were likely protecting themselves just as much as they were hunting others.

Zuko couldn't risk keeping what Mai told him about hostile takeovers and threats against Smiling Aang a secret. It had taken the better part of a day for him to decide whether he should leave out the source of his information or completely come clean, but Zuko had finally decided on full disclosure. If he kept quiet, more people would die, and he refused to have that sitting on his conscience.

"What if someone saw you?" Iroh asked, leaning across the desk in the private meeting room. "Did you even _think_ about what could happen to you?"

"I'm not an idiot," Zuko countered, stepping away from Iroh. "I know what the hell I'm doing. It would have been just as bad for her to be seen talking to me."

"You are _so_ lucky that I don't take your badge away—"

"You want it?" Zuko pulled the badge out of his pocket and threw it on the desk.

Iroh had been raging at him for the better part of ten minutes, berating him for making such a stupid move, for even _considering_ turning to the mob. Zuko didn't care. Let Iroh rant because that meeting had erased all doubts. That meeting had coiled the hate so tightly in his stomach that he would gladly and vigorously investigate every suspected mobster in the city for _jaywalking_ to get them off the streets. For the first time in his waking hours, Zuko had seen the chalk outlines and his children's destroyed bodies. The image had been so real, and he could remember the smell of the blood and the gore so vividly that it sent him to the bathroom where he'd thrown up twice.

"You're so quick to demand my badge," Zuko said, gesturing to it where it lay on the desk between them. "Pick it up and never give if back to me if you're so sure about it." Zuko leaned forward, snarling and lowering his voice. "Just remember that there are twenty detectives out there who've done _worse_ than I have, and none of those have come to you. They would have no problem stabbing you in the back. Literally."

"I'm doing this to protect you, Zuko. This…_brashness_ will get you killed! What about your family?"

"Protect me from what?" Zuko yelled. "That's not your job. You and I protect this city, that's what we do. We lay our lives on the line because someone has to, and if I didn't put my life on the line, if I didn't bring this back to you, where the hell would any of us be? _Dead_, that's where. And don't you _dare_ throw my family back at me. You don't get to play them like some trump card to guilt me into doing what _you_ want me to do."

The two men stood across from each other, breathing heavily. Zuko was not afraid of any disciplinary action because he knew there would be none. The information he'd turned over to Iroh was too valuable, too important in their fight to just be pushed aside, and for that Zuko would accept the yelling and his uncle's disappointment. He'd seen clearly, seen the path that he needed to take, and he wasn't afraid of stepping down that road.

"This isn't Atlantic City," Zuko said stepping back, his arms open wide.

"Pray to all that you hold dear that Katara never finds out."

"The only way she'll know is if you tell her."

Iroh started, looking up at Zuko, who only raised an eyebrow in challenge.

"That was incredibly foolish of you, Zuko. It could have been a trap. It could have ended in so many ways…" Iroh shook his head and sunk into a chair.

"No, it couldn't have. The Governor had a reason for authorizing that meeting, and I don't give two shits what Mai says about doing a favor for Azula. The Governor wanted that meeting, and he won't stop at me. He's probably already been courting some of the other officers."

Iroh pinched the bridge of his nose. "Jet?"

"No. Jet's loyal to Haru. Maybe some others in The Pit, but not Jet."

The two were silent for a while before Iroh pushed Zuko's badge toward him. Unsmiling, Zuko picked it up and put it back in its pocket, the weight familiar and welcome. That weight had a new importance, and Zuko kept it clutched in his fist.

"What's your next move?" Iroh asked, staring at the spot where Zuko's badge had been.

"I'll head your operation. In exchange, I want more freedom."

"To do what?"

Zuko smiled when his uncle looked at him. "Clean this city up."

"I'll see what I can do."

.O.

To say he felt exhilarated and refreshed and brand new would be an understatement. Katara was flipping through a magazine in the living room, relaxing on the couch, when he got home, and Zuko felt so light. She barely had time to speak, let alone close her magazine, before Zuko was pulling her close to him, his hands on her hips, and his mouth on hers, enjoying the simple pleasure of having her so close to him. Even though she gave a yelp of surprise, Katara didn't falter, her hands going to his shoulders as she pulled herself closer to Zuko, and he tightened his arms around her protectively, lovingly.

When he pulled away, Katara was smiling, running her hands over his cheeks.

"What was that for?"

"Because I love you."

"Well, if that's the way you express your love, I think you should do it more often," she said, smiling softly, a light blush on her cheeks.

Zuko laughed and nuzzled her neck, placing little kisses along her jaw and behind her ear. She let out that delicious mewl he hadn't heard enough of lately as she ran her fingers through his hair, and Zuko resolved that he'd make her mewl like that every night for the rest of their lives.

"Really, Zuko, what's gotten into you?"

Katara stepped back, breathing heavily, her hands against his chest, and the soft, loving look on her face made Zuko regret those months he'd been too negligent of his family. He'd been so caught up in saving and protecting them that he hadn't spent enough time with Katara and the children. It had been clear in their words and the way they threw themselves at him when he was around that the children missed their father. There were the fun years before too much responsibility settled onto them, and he knew he'd hate himself if he let these simple moments pass him by. His family deserved better treatment than he'd been giving them. Zuko ran his thumb over Katara's lips and she kissed it.

"When this is over," he said softly, "we should all go on a vacation. The whole family. I'm sorry I've been so distant since this mess started."

"You don't have to apologize. I know why you're doing it."

"Guess what I'm doing now."

Zuko couldn't hold back his excitement rising in him again. It was Christmas, and his uncle was finally, _finally_, giving him the thing he wanted most. Zuko held Katara by her shoulders, and that badge was still a palpable weight in his pocket. Only now, that weight was power, real power, to do something, to fight back against every shadow, to bring a little more light into their lives again. Zuko took Katara's hands in his, squeezed them, kissed her cheeks then her eyes then her lips, never being able to kiss enough of her, and know that all he had to do was ask and she would give him more.

"Seriously, Zuko," Katara said, stepping back, skepticism replacing that loving look. "Should I be concerned?"

"I accepted Uncle's offer," Zuko said. "I'll head his FBI team. These people… I'm not even sure they're people some of the time. But I'm going to do something about them."

Katara blinked at him for a few seconds, unsure, before throwing her arms around his neck and squealing in delight. She hugged him so tightly that Zuko was sure she'd cut off his air supply, but he didn't think twice about hugging her just as hard, lifting her off her feet like he'd done when they were dating.

"Oh, Zuko, I'm so proud of you!"

This time, it was Katara who initiated the kissing, and since they had the house all to themselves, they weren't terribly inclined to stop.

.O.

As Zuko walked from the train station to the precinct, he noticed several of Aang's Blue Arrows hanging around the area. Zuko smirked. This many Blue Arrows could only mean that Aang would be around soon, if he wasn't already. Zuko was letting his mind sink into a new mode of thinking. If they were going after these mobsters for things like tax evasion, the quickest way to hit them would be to look at their businesses; it was common practice to have a legitimate business as a front for the illegal dealings. He made a mental note to have Jin make a few calls for him. There were some favors he could cash in on just about now.

Zuko stopped at a news stand to pick up a copy of The Tribune. The front page boasted a full page picture of Haru being arrested at his family home by police officers. In the background, neighbors looked on in shock, and quite a few looked on in dismay. Funny. The Moustache, the most harmless of all the gangsters, would be going down on the more serious charge, while the hardcore thugs like The Governor and Smiling Aang would be taken away for tax evasion. Dismantling Haru's gang would be far easier than trying to dismantle The Big Three, and they'd have far more time to do it. Petty theft could get most of those guys off the street. The real gangsters, however, wouldn't go down so easy. They would put up one hell of a fight, but Zuko was glad to bring the fight to them. For once, he had the power to do that.

The Pit was literally buzzing with conversation when Zuko walked through the doors. News had quite clearly spread about Zuko's new position at the head of this task force, and several of the detectives gave him hearty slaps on the back as he passed and shouted congratulations. Should the case look like it's gaining a bit of publicity, Zuko figured he could count on more than a few of the detectives trying to call in favors. No matter. He'd be able to use the help, and it would look like a department wide effort to clean up the city.

A room had been set aside for the FBI agents to work in, but as Zuko neared his desk, he could see all the agents crowded around it, apparently waiting for him to get in.

"So you're the inspector's nephew," said one, leaning against Zuko's desk with his arms crossed.

"I'm heading this operation, that's who I am," Zuko retorted, resenting the implication but not missing a beat. "What's your name?"

Zuko sized the man up, with his short black hair and nondescript black suit. He had 'Fed' written all over him with a cocky attitude to match. Zuko had no intention of letting these guys run the show; it was his, had been placed in his hands. He knew this streets and the atmosphere one thousand times better than they did. They weren't going to run over him.

"Xin Fu," the older man replied.

"Division politics has no place here," Zuko said, waving away Xin Fu's haughty attitude.

Zuko was about to head into the room designated for the ridiculously named Operation Soap Bubbles when a few forms on his desk caught his eye. Tentatively, Zuko picked them up. A note from his uncle had been clipped to the front, telling him to use these forms sparingly; he could justify them to the higher ups, but not if Zuko was using them cavalierly. A small smile grew into a smirk, and Zuko couldn't help that deep feeling of elation that came over him.

"You better be happy my uncle is the inspector for this district," Zuko said to Xin Fu and the other, brandishing the papers. "He basically gave us a blank check."


	6. Chapter 6

Zuko watched as Katara slept curled up next to him. The strap on her nightgown had slipped down her shoulder, and her hair was loose about her pillow. He pulled away a few strands of hair that stuck to her lips. She deserved the rest. Outside their door, he could hear three little giggling voices, and Zuko realized that yes, everything had been worth it. Late nights, getting beat up, staring at gruesome photos, meeting with Mai, letting his uncle rage at him, getting that free pass to do what needed to be done.

It was all worth it.

"You know," Katara said sleepily, her eyes still closed, "it's very creepy when you do that."

Zuko chuckled. "I like watching you sleep."

He kissed her forehead as three tiny knocks came at the door.

"Mommy, are you awake?" Ira whispered loudly.

"Stay in bed," Zuko said to her. "I'll take care of the kids."

The past two weeks had been a flurry of activity at the office. Once the hate had coiled tightly enough, it was a pretty routine process to investigate Smiling Aang for tax fraud. All properties he owned were a matter of public record. To go through the properties and calculate the tax, check records—that was relatively simple. Getting around the red tape, however, that would be the real work. They'd find out for sure just how deep Aang's influence ran. So far, the red tape had been easy enough to cut, and they'd managed to find out Aang owned $2,000 in back taxes on a total of three properties. But they weren't done yet. Zuko wanted that number to go as high as possible. He wanted that number to be so high that you could purchase the city of Chicago with it.

Swinging his legs over the bed, Zuko shuffled to the door. The children were waiting for him, large eyes and smiling faces staring up into their father's face.

"Come on, kids," Zuko said, closing the door behind him and ushering them down the hall. "Let's let mom get a little more sleep. I'll cook you breakfast today."

"Dad!" Kurzu whined, rolling himself against the wall.

"Hey, what did you think I did before I met your mother?"

"Gramma Ursa says you ate at restaurants a lot," Khan offered.

"I'll let you put sugar in your cereal."

The children laughed and raced to the kitchen, Zuko following close behind. Now that there was a serious plan and some stability in the office despite its hectic look, Zuko wasn't working so early and staying so late. It was amazing all the little things you missed when you were home for a few extra hours. Like the sight of his wife sleeping, or that the children were her alarm. He hadn't known that each place at the breakfast table was carefully negotiated each morning, or that Ira was certainly in charge of the others. Somehow, she managed to know everything that was going on, and was prone to reciting this with surprising accuracy.

Zuko had always known Khan was the more laid back of the three, but in his bright blue eyes, there was a cunningness that reminded Zuko of Sokka. For better or worse, Zuko hadn't decided yet. Kuruk didn't even notice that Khan was eating from both their bowls of cereal as he compared little circles and marshmallows. A bit of shame kicked him in the gut. This wasn't something the mob was taking away from him; it was something he'd turned his own back on in his blind pursuit for justice. The children hardly missed their mother; they got to see her every morning. They missed their father. It was something _Zuko_ had denied them.

It was a bitter reminder of his own childhood. Aside from the fear and the dread, his father was a mystery to him. Even though that had been a saving grace for him, Zuko didn't want that for his own children. He wanted them to be loved and cared for. He wanted them to know he would always be there to love and protect them. When Katara came downstairs, her blue robe tied firmly around her waist, Zuko knew he could never give this up for the greater good.

No matter how selfish it might be.

.O.

"So, we go for Smiling Aang, put him away, and then who's next?"

Xin Fu stood in front of a map of the Chicagoland area—the city and its neighboring suburbs, extending even into Indiana a bit—in the room provided for Operation Soap Bubbles. The map had been divided up into four territories. In red was The Governor's area, in yellow, Smiling Aang's. Black was used to code the dead space that The Moustache's territory would become. It sat between Smiling Aang and The Governor, though clearly closer to The Governor's red. That would be why Mai said her father had more of a claim to the area than Aang. There was a gap between Aang and Haru that was left white: unclaimed for now, though Aang was reportedly looking to push in, instigating this whole conflict in the first place. Further to the north were the Bei Fongs in green. Here, the gap was larger than anywhere else. Though Aang's territory was closest to the Bei Fongs, there was still no reason for them to get involved.

Zuko pinched the bridge of his nose. "We've already got Haru out of the way. Now we're focusing on Aang. The longer we can put him away the better, because I assure you, The Governor will go after him the moment he steps out of jail. We don't want a full-fledged mob war."

Zuko looked at the map. Honestly, it was a collective effort by nearly every detective in The Pit. Boundaries had been derived from information gathered over the years from various sources—witness statements in other, unrelated crimes, the criminal element, a few 'underground' resources—and while it was likely far from accurate, it was the best they could do. It gave them a decent picture to go on.

"Sir! I just got word that two distilleries were found in properties belonging to Gyatso," FBI agent Shin yelled, barging into the room.

Idle chatter stopped as everyone gave Shin their undivided attention. The middle-aged man shuffled papers in his hands as he walked to their map. A few pushpins had been used to designate important buildings; for the moment, white pins indicated the houses of the gang leaders, and blue pins indicated buildings belonging to Smiling Aang. But no one had considered anything belonging to Gyatso, Aang's elderly father. They weren't even sure he was still active. Nothing had been heard from the man in _years_. They'd all assumed he went quietly into retirement, handing everything over to Aang.

"Are you serious?" one of the other detectives asked. "The guy's what? Ninety-five? Are we going to throw that old man in prison?"

Shin waved this away. When he found what he was looking for in his papers, he began tracing streets on the map in the blue colored area, and when he found the proper address, he gave a satisfied laugh, marking the place with a red push pin.

"Here," Shin said, pointing, "is the first distillery. Right along the lakefront in neutral territory, but close to the Bei Fongs. He's shipping in booze on Lake Michigan. Got to be getting it from Canada, the fuckers—"

"Language," Xin Fu warned, wrinkling his nose.

"Right. So, we know there's a casino in Aang's name just a few miles from this first distillery, and we can safely assume that his father's supplying the place with hootch. We can send in some officers, do a raid, find out just what he's got stocked up there. Arrest them."

"Arrest an _old man_?" that concerned detective asked.

Zuko laughed bitterly. He couldn't believe it. _Two weeks_ they'd been planning this thing, versus the _months_ Zuko had been fighting this war on his own. Two weeks, and the breaks start coming left and right.

"What kind of source do you have?" Zuko looked at Shin, still unbelieving.

"Get this. A dirty cop in the central precinct? Well, his wife finds out where he's been getting this extra money from, and she threatens to divorce him and take the kids back to her mother's. Guy gets all weepy, says she's the love of his life and he's doing it for her."

A few chuckles went up, two of Zuko's detective acting out the scene in melodramatic gestures. The one playing the wife mimed slapping the husband. His take on the situation was a little different. Not quite something to be laughed about. Shame kicked him in the shin this time. He wasn't sure Katara would threaten divorce if she ever found out about his meeting with Mai, but she would definitely want time away from him. Zuko pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn't regret meeting with Mai, but he could potentially regret what could happen because of it.

"Anyway," Shin continued, "Guy says he'll come clean. Offers up documents. Documents, fellas, we got a copy of the _deed_ and everything."

"Why does he have a copy of the deed?" Zuko asked, his suspicious voice cutting through the cheering.

"Well…" Shin shrugged. "Can't say that I know. I figured he stole it. The guy's a dirty cop."

"He'd be a dead cop." Xin Fu quickly cought onto Zuko's meaning. "Sharp eye, kid," he said, turning to Zuko.

"You're not so slow either, old badger. But the way I see it, this cop's got some connections in property, clerk's office, or something where he'd have access to make a copy or it wasn't a cop at all. It was either The Governor or The Mustache. If the Bei Fongs and Aang can hook up, why not those two?"

The room went silent, all mirth draining out. Shin sighed, rolling up the papers and stuffing them in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. Zuko tried to tease out potential outcomes. The story being true was the most straightforward. The cop had a change of heart, deciding his family was more important than money, and wanted to change his ways. They should still investigate the cop, just to be on the safe side, make sure he wasn't being put up to it by anyone else. If there was another unholy alliance forming in the city… Well, Haru would be in jail soon enough, and his men might get absorbed by The Governor. They'd get low ranking positions because Zuko couldn't see such a careful man allowing people who'd so recently been his enemies close to his person.

Zuko wasn't sure how he felt about the middle option, though. Whomever Gyatso bought the property from, could, of course, be innocent. Money had a way of opening all doors, and from pictures he'd seen of Gyatso, he cut a striking, trustworthy figure, even in his later years. But why would the cop be involved in that? A relative, perhaps, or an old friend? In that case, things could have been done under the table, and the original landowner could go down, too. At the least, they'd take a hit to their reputation. But if it was an underhanded dealing, why would there be a paper trail that so easily led back to Gyatso?

"Let's try to clear out one of those options right now," Xin Fu said. "Shin, do you have a name for this officer?"

Shin shuffled and cleared his throat. "Smith, sir."

Several curses rolled through the room as detectives and FBI agents began gathering papers and making themselves more comfortable. They would be in this for the long haul.

"Did you pick up the documents in person?" Xin Fu asked, moving to take a seat.

Zuko watched Shin's Adam's apple bob as he swallowed thickly. With shaking hands, Shin dug out his handkerchief and wiped at the sweat along his brow.

"Well, sir, Agent Gow only phoned me from the boarding house. Said a kid—"

"Did you just pull these guys out of the Academy and slap a badge on them?" Zuko asked irately, turning to Xin Fu. "We're potentially prosecuting one of the biggest cases this nation has seen and you send me…damned _amateurs_? Do you _want_ this city to fall?"

Xin Fu held up his hand, but it did little to quell Zuko's anger. Pacing, Zuko let his mind run free, try desperately to find ways that this wasn't a setup. Turning over a new leaf did not include letting a kid run papers for you. That just reeked of shady dealings. Zuko stopped and regarded Shin again. That an FBI agent could let something so big, so important, slip by without comment… Zuko closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He would _not_ become paranoid. He would not start to suspect everyone around him. It was an oversight from a junior officer.

"You and Gow will be assigned to the office," Zuko said, addressing Shin. "I'll have other members of this team investigate your 'Officer Smith,' and this kid. You and Gow will both be interviewed—"

"Sir, it was an honest mistake—"

"In the meantime," Zuko said, standing and grabbing his jacket, "We will look into Gyatso. He could be an important link in this case. I won't throw out the idea that this tip could put us on the right track just because you're incompetent."

* * *

><p>Ugh, I'm trying to end this thing. I really am. It was supposed to be a short fic, but I'm having quite a bit of fun with it. I've got an Azula one shot in this 'verse, but I'm not too sure about it : We'll see. In any event, I'm trying to wind things down, here. Certainly not intending to go over 10 chapters. We'll see how _well_ that goes, too.


	7. Chapter 7

Zuko sat at his desk, twirling a pen in his hands as he looked at Gyatso's property records. A blank check meant he could get originals from the clerk's office, and Jin had come through for him. The original documents for all properties owned by Gyatso had been waiting for him on his desk when he got in that morning. But it wasn't sitting right with him. There was a disturbance in the pit of his stomach that was keeping him on edge. He twirled the pen again, willing the papers to speak to him.

"Hey, Detective Giggles," Jet called from across the aisle.

It would be immature to make rude hand gestures at a coworker. Zuko did it anyway. He wasn't interested in Jet's petty insults. County records had clearly been falsified. Either that, or someone was doing something funny with Gyatso's signature. But, of course, Gyatso was ancient, so it's reasonable that his hand could have been shaking when he signed his name on a warehouse lease last year. In fact, that signature matched one from three years ago. But on the house that Gyatso bought _five_ years ago? _That_ looked very different. The two newer signatures had a painstaking carefulness to them that just wasn't evident in the older signature. The older signature was grander, little flourishes on the 'g,' a large loop on the 'y,' and a bit of a curl to the 'o.' While the newer signatures replicated these details, something was off about them; it reminded him of his children first learning to write their own names, tiny brows furrowed in concentration, pencils gripped tightly in their hands. Zuko laid the papers out, side by side.

"I was trying to have a polite conversation," Jet said irritably.

"I don't see how calling me Detective Giggles is polite," Zuko said, not bothering to look up. "What do you want Detective Suspicious Activity?"

"Why do you always have to go there?" Jet huffed and scooted in his chair, and lit a cigarette. "Look, I was just going to ask you if you were attending Haru's trial. Hear it's going to be a circus."

There was little mirth in Jet's voice, and Zuko figured he must be having a hard time with this. Even if Haru and Jet were just friends and not business associates, it was still a difficult thing to do, be responsible for your friend going to jail in a spectacular way. But Jet and Haru made their choices; one couldn't blame the other for the consequences of those choices. Jet didn't have to become a cop, but he did. He could have sided with Haru, probably would have been successful at it, could have even managed that gang himself and he would have been better at it than Haru. But Jet chose to become a cop, and now he'd have to live with it.

"I think I've found something a bit bigger," Zuko said, tracing Gyatso's signature with his finger.

"Not going to watch the fruits of your labor?"

"I'm not going to gloat if that's what you're asking."

Carefully, slowly, Zuko ran his finger over those lines again and again, trying to figure out why the signature should get neater or more precise as Gyatso got older. Already, he was formulating reasons to check in on Gyatso and get some handwriting samples. Possibly tell him someone was making fraudulent claims in his name. But Zuko couldn't do it himself; no, his name was too connected to the mob investigations and Gyatso would be suspicious. Even if he was taking his time with the signature, it should still be sloppy. The old man's hand would be shaking all over the place.

"While I'm happy that you're not intending to gloat, Giggles," Jet said, "I'm just surprised that you're not going to the trial. Given how into the mob you are and everything."

Slamming his hands down on the desk, Zuko was ready to lay into Jet for calling him Giggles again, but he stopped. Jet was giving him one of those looks where you try to convey meaning without actually saying anything. Zuko rolled his eyes. He hated those looks. What else could Haru possibly have to offer them? Clearly, Jet wanted him to attend the trial, but if it was something so important that Jet thought Zuko needed to know about it, he should just come out and say it.

"You take that crap somewhere else," Zuko said, pointing at Jet. "If you've got something to say, say it. Don't make eyes at me."

"I'm not making _eyes_ at you," Jet said, wrinkling his nose. "What—"

"You were making eyes at me. Cut it out." Zuko made a shooing motion at Jet. "If you want me to go to Haru's trial, tell me I should go to Haru's trial."

"You should go to Haru's trial."

"Why?"

"Can't say." Jet shrugged. "If you go you'll find out. Got it on good authority."

Grabbing a bunch of papers, Zuko stood and headed for the Operation Soap Bubbles room. He was done with Jet. He should have known he wouldn't get any peace and quiet while he worked at his desk. Not with Jet there making eyes at him.

"I hate you," he called to Jet over his shoulder. "I hope your wife forgot to pack your lunch. Again."

.O.

"I'm just saying it's bothering me."

"That's what's bothering you? Of all the things that _could_ be bothering you, you harp on this signature?"

Xin Fu looked at the three signatures on his desk, his eyebrows nearly in his hairline. He looked at Zuko, shaking his head, but Zuko only pointed back to the signatures.

"I can't explain it, but it doesn't sit right with me."

"Well, let's ignore the signatures for now, focus on the whole document." Xin Fu leaned back and took a long drag from his cigarette. "The house is pretty legit. We can't get anything on him there. These two warehouse properties, though, that's where we've got something."

They'd looked into the warehouse properties in Gyatso's name, and there was alcohol in abundance and trucks to transport it, too. At this point, they were waiting for a few requests to be approved before they could storm the place and seize the payload. After hearing about the booze, Iroh had put in a request for storing the evidence at an off-site location to prevent any…temptation. Even if they all would have liked nothing more than to just crack into a barrel of fine whiskey, it was still evidence. And illegal. Even if Zuko did want a taste of that brandy.

"Interestingly enough," Zuko said, sitting in the chair opposite from Xin Fu, "it doesn't appear that Aang owns any warehouses or distilleries or distributions centers. Maybe it's part of their agreement. Gyatso gets the booze, Aang supplies the entertainment."

Xin Fu nodded thoughtfully. "Sounds likely. Don't know how the judges will take to us prosecuting a ninety-five year old man, though. He'll probably do his best to look weak and frail during the trial. Garner some sympathy."

It didn't matter anyway. They practically had Gyatso on violation of prohibition, and barring any sort of major screw up, Zuko really couldn't see how this open and shut case would flop. But it's not like major screw ups were completely out of the question, and they could run into a spot of trouble if the defense asks how they came by this information. For the time being, Zuko, Iroh, and Xin Fu had decided to classify it as an anonymous tip, but should people start coming forward and claiming they were the ones to give the tip, they could hit a spot of trouble. It was still legitimate that they were considering the tip anonymous, but the jury could be easily swayed if they found out the tipster had anything to do with the mob. Practicality and logic be damned, some jurors would probably blame the police and yell imcompetence.

"How's our search for Mr. Smith coming?" Zuko asked, leaning back in the chair and accepting the cigarette Xin Fu offered. "Please tell me something good."

"The good news is that there aren't as many Smiths in the Chicago Police as we thought." Xin Fu tapped the ashes off his cigarette. "The bad news is that there are still quite a few, and so far, none of them match. I'm ready to send Shin and Gow back to district offices with an order for demotion and retraining."

Zuko laughed mirthlessly. Xin Fu was being infinitely more generous than he was inclined to be. If it were Zuko, he'd strip the two fools of their badges, send them to the worst district in the country to work. He closed his eyes as he let out a long puff of smoke. Whomever this Smith had been, though, they knew their stuff. The leads had checked out. The raid on Aang's casino would have happened already if they had more resources. It was a massive casino, and they would have to go in there with close to fifty armed officers. They needed just a little more time until officers could be pulled from other cases, even if it was just for one day. Timing was everything. If the raid happened on Gyatso's warehouse too long before it happened on Aang's casino, there was a chance that Aang could dump the booze before the cops got there. These two massive raids had to go down at practically the same time.

Xin Fu sighed and ran his hands over his face. "In any case, pretty soon, we'll have an excuse to pay Aang and his father a visit."

Zuko nodded slowly. "By the way, what do you know about Haru's trial?"

"You're asking the wrong person," Xin Fu said, shrugging. "That was your deal. Or Jet's."

"You haven't heard anything? No gossip? Nothing odd that reporters are saying?"

"I read the papers and listen to the radio the same as you do."

From the Operation Soap Bubbles room, Zuko could see his desk, and if he could see his desk, he could see Jet's desk. He'd been keeping to himself ever since Haru's arrest, and Zuko wasn't the only one to notice. No one was whispering anything, but everyone was taking note of Jet's turning down of social invitations. Saying he wanted to spend more time with his family. If Jet did have ties to Haru, and if Haru was planning to side with The Governor to wage war against Smiling Aang and the Bei Fongs, Jet just might know something. Zuko groaned.

"What's that?" Xin Fu asked.

"I think I'll be going to Haru's trial."

.O.

Zuko stood in front of the mirror and adjusted his tie. He sighed heavily. Sure, he missed date nights, but he didn't miss having to get dressed up. He wore a suit every day; to him, there was very little difference between that suit and a tux. But, there he was, standing in front of the mirror, adjusting his tie and trying to figure out which cuff links would be best.

"You don't have to look so depressed," Katara said, coming out of the bathroom and putting on her diamond earrings.

This was why Zuko really liked date nights. Katara was wearing a floor length dress of deep blue, cut low in the front with billowy sleeves. It hugged her waist, accentuating her curves. Katara smiled at him with red lips, the diamonds in her ears and on her neck sparkling in the light of the lamps. Zuko knew he was a lucky man when Katara agreed to marry him. He knew he was a lucky man every day that he woke up next to her.

"Here," Katara said, adjusting his tie. "Do you like my dress?"

Zuko laughed. "How did you know?"

Katara stood on the tips of her toes and kissed him, her lips barely grazing his, her hand resting against his chest. She was small, but firm in his arms. His anchor.

"What do you say we have mom take the kids back to her place rather than stay here, and you and I just stay in?" Zuko suggested.

"Oh, no," Katara said laughing, "you're not getting out of this. I've been waiting for tonight for quite some time." She sashayed off to the closet to pick her shoes.

When they arrived at the posh restaurant, the night was already in full swing. The live band was playing slow jazz loudly and couples swayed together on the dance floor. Jewels glittered on men and women, and Zuko and Katara glided their way past the multitudes to their private table near the rear of the restaurant. As they walked, Katara swayed with the beat, snapping her fingers. Zuko snaked his arm around her waist, and they danced together over to their table. Their lives had been hectic lately. Getting away from it all and being a little indulgent wasn't such a bad thing. With Katara looking as beautiful as she did, feeling as good as she did in his arms, it was hard for Zuko to suppress a smile. It was hard to not get lost in the horns and the drums and the piano.

"See, isn't this a wonderful idea?" Katara asked after they were seated. She leaned forward to speak to him, reaching for his hand across the table.

Zuko looked around the restaurant. Wonderful idea might have been an understatement. The opulence of the dinner club lent opulence to everything inside it. Even the china set out before them seemed grander just for being inside that old beast of a building with its gilded crystal chandeliers and heavy velvet curtains. Decadent smells came from the kitchen on breezes created by waiters in coat tails, silver platters held high to avoid any accidents. People laughed loudly, men slapped their knees in amusement, and a woman with a shrill, bird-like laugh threw her head back as rubies caught the lamplight and sent spurts of red across her dinner guests' faces. A woman with short black hair stepped up to the microphone on the stage, and the band started up another number, a catchy, upbeat song, and Katara bobbed her head, smiling softly. The only thing that was missing was the fine wine, champagne, and a perfectly aged brandy.

"What's so funny?" Katara asked, sipping her water.

"Just thinking how much this place would benefit from a bit of alcohol."

Katara laughed behind her hand and nudged, almost seductively, him gently with her foot. "Aren't you the prohibition agent? You shouldn't be saying that!"

"Correction. I'm a detective with the Chicago Police, Kitten." Zuko raised his glass to her. "I still know the value of a good dark red."

Katara tossed her head back and laughed. When one song ended, the next began almost seamlessly, the horns blaring to life above the rolling thunder of the drums. The crowd roared with pleasure at the familiar opening strain of a popular song, and everyone erupted with applause, and the dance floor quickly filled with couples doing the Foxtrot and Quickstep. Katara pushed back from the table, snapping her fingers and nodding toward the dance floor. With mock reluctance, Zuko followed, Katara enthusiastically taking his hand and leading him between other couples.

"Quickstep or Foxtrot?" Katara asked as she threw her arm around Zuko's neck.

"Katara, you know how I feel—"

"Quickstep it is, then!"

Katara began to lead, causing Zuko to stumble for the first few beats. It was hard to stay in a bad mood with the music and the most beautiful woman in the club in his arms. With a sudden jerk, Zuko switched their positions, taking the lead and silently thanking his mom for teaching him how to dance. He led Katara effortlessly around the floor, and she giggle like a schoolgirl the whole time. He buried his face in her neck as they moved, giving her little kisses, and it didn't matter that they weren't really doing the Quickstep anymore, just that they were together, and they were touching and kissing and laughing, and it was the most fun they'd had in ages. They danced for three songs, and even when they were tired and laughing and out of breath, neither wanted to stop. Zuko thought they still needed nights like these to remind them that they were still young, still in love, and that life was pretty good for them.

It wasn't until they were leaving, that feeling of sated euphoria deep in their bones despite the lack of alcohol, that the night was even the slightest bit tainted. They were still laughing, and Katara was singing a few bars of one song or another, and Zuko saw them.

Smiling Aang and Toph Bei Fong.

Aang was accepting a wad of cash from a scared looking waiter, stuffing it in his suit pocket. He and Toph were holding hands. Zuko frowned. There was just so much wrong about that scene. The waiter was quivering and Toph gave him a harsh shove, causing the man to stumble back. Aang and Toph laughed together before turning and going inside.

"Zuko?"

Katara was tugging at his hand, pulling him toward the waiting cab. Zuko followed, determined not to let this little blight ruin his night. He could always look into it in the morning. He knew, though, that he couldn't send any other detective into this tank of sharks. He needed the answers, and he would get them.

Come hell or high water.

* * *

><p>I'm not dead! I'm not dead! I've managed to injure my finger, so it's in a metal splint, which makes it hard for me to type. Updates might be a bit slow for a while, but I'm still working on it. I've already got the next chapter planned, and hopefully, I'm finally working toward an ending.<p>

In other news, I like writing Zuko/Jet scenes. This is why Jet should still be alive. Could you imagine a Zuko-Jet-Sokka friendship? I can :D


	8. Chapter 8

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Absolutely positive."

Zuko blew smoke out the corner of his mouth, one hand shoved in the pocket of his suit pants. He gripped his lighter. Xin Fu kept pace with him, the older man not looking nearly as calm. He fumbled with his match, burned his fingers. Zuko offered to light the cigarette for him.

"I just don't understand how you're so calm."

"I keep my shaking on the inside."

Xin Fu let out a low chuckle. "You're something else, you know that?"

"Which is why we're here."

The two walked on in silence for a few blocks. Looming ever closer was a massive house, nearly twice the size as the others surrounding it. Rumor had it that, in his prime, Gyatso bought two neighboring houses and had them connected. Zuko didn't care why the house was so large, but he would admit that it had a certain intimidation factor. That massive brick structure bore down on them. They were miniscule in its shadow. Its door would be a gaping maw ready to devour. But would it spit them back out, or would it find them too tasty to let go?

"I hope to high heaven you're wrong," Xin Fu said, stopping half a block away.

Zuko shrugged. "I'm not sure if I do. On the one hand it puts him away…"

"On the other, the bastard could have murdered his father."

"Whoa there," Zuko said, putting up his hands with a small smile. "I wasn't going that far. I'm starting at forgery. Saying Gyatso doesn't know what's what. He's ninety-five, remember?"

Xin Fu pitched his cigarette away, blowing the remaining smoke from the corner of his mouth and into the wind. "You stopped short of saying murder. You did this little prancy tap dance around it."

"I didn't do any 'prancy tap dance.' What the hell is that?"

"The point is, you came this close to saying 'murder' before you backed down. You scared of the word or something?"

Zuko took a deep breath, held it, then released it. He looked over his shoulder at the building that was blocking the sun and casting a shadow over them. It was a gorgeous building, with its gargoyles and stone façade, the wrought iron fence that kept everyone out. It even had its own private driveway, letting the car go right up to the front door. A rose in a field of grass couldn't have been more noticeable than that behemoth of a building. Zuko shook his head and turned back to his partner.

"Maybe I am afraid of saying murder. What do you do when someone like that," he nodded toward the building, "murders his father? How do we _even_ deal?"

Xin Fu rubbed his temples and Zuko ground out his cigarette stub on the sidewalk. He exhaled the smoke through his nose with a forceful push. Slapping Xin Fu on the back twice, he turned them toward the house and began the final approach.

"Fear or no fear, it's up to us," Zuko said. "If we don't do it, no one will, and this city goes to the dogs. Chicago falls, then Atlantic City falls. New York. Detroit. Who knows what else'll start to happen. We've got to be the ones to stand up to this bullshit."

They stopped in front of the gate, and imperceptibly, a curtain on the second floor fluttered, a face visible for only a second. But Zuko and Xin Fu had been trained to see the unseeable.

"You want to know why I moved to Seattle?" Xin Fu asked. "To get away from this mess. It's unreal. They've been watching us since we got out the car and had lunch. They've probably been listening to our conversation this entire time. They phone him, tell him what we're after, he's already got the jump on us."

Zuko nodded. "I thought about that."

"And?"

Zuko pressed the buzzer on the gate, rang for admittance. They didn't have to wait long; a woman came out, unlocked the gate for them. She said nothing, made no eye contact, lead them back to the house. Inside, she accepted their coats and hats, didn't ask for their guns. When she turned to the hall closet to put away their things, Xin Fu raised an eyebrow at Zuko, but he only shook his head. Whether it was nervousness, excitement, or fear, the woman trembled. It was not courtesy or respect that made her avert her eyes.

When she turned to them again, she opened her mouth as if to speak, but shook her head instead, sweeping her arm out, indicating the direction they should walk. She lead them to an opulent sitting room, a claw footed couch upholstered in deep gold and red patterned fabric facing an ornately carved fireplace. Trinkets lined the mantle, souvenirs from various trips around the world. Rather than sitting, the two men moved around the room, inspecting each oddity. Zuko snorted when he saw a miniature carved bison sitting under a picture of Gyatso atop a real one. Bookshelves lined one wall, and Zuko skimmed over the titles. Mostly they were books giving advice on how to start your own business. Money management. Travel books and guides, interesting places to see in the world. Encyclopedias. All things designed to impart knowledge and wisdom.

In one corner was grouped all the artifacts from Gyatso's trip to China, including several pictures of him sitting with monks. Zuko had heard stories about the people in China, but they contrasted vastly from what Zuko saw in those pictures. Gyatso was sitting on the floor outside a stone temple, his legs crossed and his face serene. Xin Fu handed him a jade dragon with the words peace and wisdom carved along the belly of the beast.

"My father was an interesting man, wasn't he?"

Slowly, the two agents turned, careful not to appear startled, to see Smiling Aang standing in the doorway they had come through. In his hand, he held a bone china cup. Zuko studied the set of his still boyish face, freshly shaven, looked into those large gray eyes. And saw nothing. Aang's voice was light and friendly, but none of that was evident in his eyes. The smile he wore did not reach them. Just as much as Zuko was watching Aang, Aang was watching him. Not them, not Zuko and Xin Fu. Just Zuko.

"He's been a lot of places," Xin Fu said.

"This was his favorite, though," Aang said, gesturing toward the China corner with his cup. "He went back there…oh, seven times, maybe? Each time he came back, he said he was feeling more enlightened than the last."

"And was he?"

Aang made a face of mock surprise at Zuko, made a show of thinking over the question before coming to sit in one of the wingback chairs by the fireplace. He adjusted his signature electric blue tie. Zuko wasn't big on fashion, but he hated that the stupid blue tie was worn with nearly every outfit. Even the brown tweed suit Aang was currently wearing.

"I suppose you could say he was enlightened. He certainly seemed to think he was, and I guess that's all that really matters, eh?"

Xin Fu made a noncommittal noise, and this time, when they were offered a seat, they took it. The maid came in again, and tea was served; chamomile, to soothe them all.

"Shall we get down to business, gentlemen?" Aang asked, setting his cup on the low table between them. "I can't imagine you came here to talk about my father. I understand you're very interested in what I do."

"Actually," Xin Fu said, "we are here to talk about your father. Or _to_ him, if that's possible."

The corner of Aang's mouth twitched, and Zuko studied this miniscule movement. He watched the way Aang tapped his fingers twice against his knee, vigilant for any clues. There was a slight twinkle in Aang's eye, but it was fleeting. Still, it was the only spark behind those cold, grey eyes.

"My father is a very busy man."

"So we've gathered," Zuko cut in harshly, reaching inside his suit pocket for his notebook and pen. "We've tried calling two of his offices, but apparently he hasn't been in to either one of them for a very long time."

"Yes, well, he's an old man," Aang said, folding his hands over his knee. "He can't be everywhere at once, and most days he can't get out of the bed."

Even as Aang narrowed his eyes at Zuko, searching for something, that youth didn't pass. Zuko wondered just how old he really was, if he was younger than twenty-nine. There was no evidence of hair on his face, no depth to his light, airy voice, no signs of age. Unless Aang had found the fountain of youth. Zuko held back a snort, recording that Aang was drumming his fingers on his knee again. It might be a sign of irritation, or that he was hiding something. Nervous tics. But Aang's eyes were still clear, still focusing on Zuko, and so the seasoned detective slipped further into tactics learned from his uncle. He stilled his mind, kept focus on the task at hand. He would have time later to make connections, but right in that moment, during that conversation, Zuko needed to be focused on Aang. He needed to Aang to believe that this was a simple, routine check.

"Has he passed on the day to day operations to someone else?" Xin Fu asked.

Aang's eyes flicked to the other man. "He's ninety-five. A man deserves to retire at some point."

Xin Fu nodded, conceding the point. "Do you know the name of this person? We might need to speak with them."

Zuko readied his pen, already anticipating the answer. There was only one person Zuko could see filling Gyatso's shoes. And royally messing up everything Gyatso had worked to obtain.

"Of course I know who took my father's place." Aang paused, smiling, as he reached for his cup, discarded on the table. "I did. He wouldn't trust anyone else."

Zuko watched Xin Fu from the corner of his eye, watched as his partner stared at his empty note book, pen poised just above the page. Xin Fu was frowning slightly, as if he couldn't read his own handwriting. Aang was hiding his mouth behind his cup, but Zuko figured he knew what kind of expression he would have. He would be smug. It was still hard to tell just how much Aang knew about the reason for their visit, but it was clear that he knew something. And that he was hiding something.

"Tell me gentlemen," Aang said, addressing Zuko in his distantly genial manner, "why is my father under investigation? He hasn't done anything wrong, I can _assure_ you of that."

His voice had become dark, transforming Aang's face. He would forever have that boyish look, but this was the look of a boy who might throw a rock through your window if you don't give him a sweet. He lowered his head, his hands gripping the arms of the chair, and stared at Zuko hard. It was as if Xin Fu wasn't even in the room with them, though Zuko knew Xin Fu was recording things just as carefully as Zuko was etching them into his brain.

"You don't intend to throw a feeble old man into jail, do you?" Aang leaned forward in his chair, shortening the gap between himself and the detectives. "Because if you do, I can also assure you that life will become harder than you could ever imagine—"

"I can imagine life being pretty hard," Zuko said, cutting off this little tirade. "My wife says I have a vivid imagination."

Aang leaned back in the chair, the dark moment passed, but a mischievous look crossing his face. He steepled his fingers in front of his chest, regarding Zuko as one might a delicious steak. It was not the most comfortable feeling.

"I know your wife. Or knew her. We went to school together. Beautiful, _beautiful_ girl." Aang turned his head away, smiling softly as if he was smelling something pleasant. "Oh, there wasn't a guy there who wasn't in love with the very _dirt_ that touched her feet."

When Aang looked at him, Zuko ground his teeth, reminding himself that he had a purpose, a goal, and that it would be best not to give in to his anger.

"_Katara_…" Aang licked his lips, savoring the word. "The softest lips—"

"Aren't you going to ask why we're here to question your father?" Xin Fu cut in.

"She kissed you once when she was in high school because she thought it was _cute_ that you wanted to take her to the school dance." Zuko wasn't going to leave it like that. He would not let Aang get away with _licking his lips_ while thinking about Zuko's wife. "You were just a cute kid to her."

Aang smirked, leaning back into his chair as if he intended to meld with it. "Why are you investigating my father, detectives?"

"Someone might be forging his signature, using it to buy properties," Zuko said, a little more harshly than he'd intended.

"Oh?" Aang raised an eyebrow, the boyishness fully in place again. "And how do you know this?"

"I'll need writing samples from your father. And you."

"Me?"

Aang looked at Zuko, clearly confused. Lackeys they'd brought in said that Smiling Aang liked to pull jokes sometimes. That they'd come out of nowhere and blindside you. Zuko offered a genuine smile. There was no joke in this.

"Simple things," Xin Fu began explaining. "A memo, maybe, letters, a contract with your signature. If you don't want to turn over any of your documents, we can have you write something down right now."

Xin Fu offered the book, but Aang only looked at it, never removing his hands from the armrest.

"We'll need all originals." Zuko jotted a few notes. "Also, the department will need an older writing sample from your father. Sometime during his prime would be best—"

"Who's to say he's not at his prime now?"

"—and something more recent. Within the past year would be perfect. Again, if you don't wish to turn over a newer document, we can generate a sample right now. If you would call your father, please."

"He's an old man. You would drag him out of bed for this?" Aang gestured angrily at the space between them. "This is—"

"This is business," Xin Fu said. He closed his book and tucked it away in his inside pocket. "I would have thought you'd be interested in protecting the family name. If you let people get away with fraud…" Xin Fu swept his arms over the living room, suggesting everything Aang could lose.

"If you refuse, we can always get the courts involved," Zuko said, raising an eyebrow. Yes. Please let him resist.

Aang squirmed in his seat, indecisive, starting to rise but then changing his mind several times. He chewed his lip, ran his hands through his hair.

"Or, we could just talk to your father," Zuko suggested.

"He is…indisposed at the moment," Aang said.

Zuko only smiled, tucking his note book away. Of course he was.

* * *

><p>Ok, this baby is finally winding down. I'm figuring maybe three or four more chapters (if I can keep my imagination under control) for this story before we're all done. Generally, I don't like endings where everything wraps up in a nice, neat bow, because that's not how life is. I'll do my best to tie up any lose ends, though.<p>

Did you like the references to Gyatso as a monk? For as cutthroat as Aang is, I still see him as being overconfident/thinking himself as untouchable. This is going to be a problem for him. But also for our lovely detectives. And before I forget again, I wrote a one shot about Azula's second pregnancy in this universe. It gives insight into why she's in this predicament. It's quite angsty and possibly a bit depressing. But then, her whole situation is depressing. Check it out. It's called "Good Mourning."


	9. Chapter 9

Zuko rolled over, intending to grab a few extra minutes of sleep, but he bumped into something and it giggled. Slowly, he opened an eye, and two blue ones were staring back at him.

"You really should get out of bed, now," Katara said, brushing hair out of his face. "You don't want to be late for work."

Groaning, Zuko pushed himself up and looked at the clock. Usually when he woke up, Katara was downstairs making breakfast, the little ones putting on their clothes and heading downstairs to eat. He was always the last to get up, largely because he was the last to go to bed every night.

"Aren't the children going to school today? I thought you had to work?"

Katara nudged his shoulder when he dropped back against the pillow.

"You forgot again, didn't you? They don't have school today. Teacher meetings all day."

Yes. Zuko did forget. He flopped back against the bed, burying his face in the pillow. He'd have to take the children to work with him, and while his coworkers enjoyed fawning over each other's children, there was just too much to be done.

"I'm going to Haru's trial today," Zuko said, his voice muffled.

"Can Iroh watch them? Or can you leave them with Jun?"

"I want you to think about that second question again," Zuko said, slightly lifting his head to look at his wife.

Katara smiled at him, her head tilted to the side and her hair hanging in loose curls as she leaned on her arm. Zuko scooted closer to her, laid his head in her lap. The silk of her nightgown was soft against his cheek, but he preferred the feel of her skin, soft and silky in its own right, but also so much more _her_ than anything else. He nudged the nightgown out of the way so he could lay his face against her skin, and kissed her knee.

"You know how they like going to work with you," Katara said, running her fingers through his hair.

Not that there was much of a choice. The children would rejoice, and many sweets would be had by all.

.O.

Many sweets _were_ had by all.

"I like to keep something for the children when they come," Jin said as they passed by the front desk.

"Thank you, Miss Jin," Kurzu said as he shoved a sweet in his mouth.

Khan's pockets were overflowing with little candies, and Zuko only shook his head. They would be hell on wheels a little later. Ira was unwrapping a second, nodding her agreement with her older brother's thanks as she held one piece of candy in her cheek already.

"Come on, kids," Zuko said, holding the door open for them as he waved goodbye to Jin. He'd have to pat them down for hidden candy before he sent them to Iroh. There was no way Iroh would be able to catch everything, observant though he was. Zuko knew his children were a special brand of sneaky.

The Pit was busy that morning, all the detectives buzzing and passing folders and massive files from one group to the next. Zuko kept the children close to him so they wouldn't get trampled by the rushing secretaries, everyone too occupied to notice three extra little bodies around.

"Look who's come to visit!" Iroh boomed over the noise.

The children laughed and ran to their great uncle, Iroh picking up his namesake, Ira, and squeezing her as she laughed. Never one to favor one child over the other, Iroh sat Ira down, squeezing each in turn. Even among all the chaos, Zuko was glad to have these little moments with his family. He knew that children grew too quickly, and it reminded him of how he'd almost thrown this away in his pursuit of justice. Zuko frowned. He never would have forgiven himself if he'd missed these moments. Things could have gone so much worse than his working all the time. He was dealing with the mob. It wasn't unheard of for people to simply disappear.

"So those are your kids, huh?" Xin Fu asked, coming to stand by Zuko.

"Those are my kids," Zuko said, letting discouraging and painful thoughts be replaced by the sight in front of him.

"Cute."

"Crafty."

"Like their father."

Zuko laughed. "I guess it was unavoidable. They get it from both sides. One day, I should tell you about how Katara and I ended up getting married. I was powerless against her feminine charms."

Xin Fu slapped Zuko's shoulder, laughing loudly. "Aren't we all. Aren't we all…"

The two men watched Iroh fawn over the children, picking candies out of Khan's pockets, only to have Khan pick them back out of Iroh's pockets when his attention was distracted. By the end of the day, Iroh would be exhausted, and Zuko knew he could quite likely expect a call from Jun scolding him, because now Iroh had baby fever again. A few of the other detectives were wandering over, and Iroh was proudly showing off the children as if they were his own. Kurzu puffed his chest out when one detective commented on how big and strong he'd gotten, but this was slightly ruined when Ira said that she could always beat him in a race.

"Hate to ruin the moment for you," Xin Fu said, "but there's a bit of work we need to do before heading over to Haru's trial after lunch."

Zuko sighed. Aang had been less than helpful with the writing samples, though they'd been able to get records from the county clerk's office. They still didn't have a current sample from Gyatso, and all calls to any of his offices and operations were only forwarded to Aang. Zuko pinched the bridge of his nose. Just because they couldn't get to Gyatso didn't mean that he was dead or that Aang killed him. Gyatso's disappearance left them with few plausible explanations, but that had to be secondary to the bootlegging and trafficking cases that would get Aang off the street a lot quicker.

"Yeah," Zuko said, watching Khan take candy back from Iroh's pocket again. "I know we've got some stuff to go over."

Kneeling, Zuko called to the children and reminded them to behave for their uncle and the other detectives. He removed the last of the candy from Khan and Kurzu's pockets, and handed it to Iroh, who could only laugh. He'd been bested by a five year old, and not for the first time.

.O.

"We should really focus on the bootlegging, since that case is the clearest," Zuko said to the Operation Soap Bubbles team. "It's also the easiest and quickest way for us to get access to Gyatso and pursue additional charges if we want."

A few of the detectives took notes, and Zuko nodded to Xin Fu, who pointed at the map they'd drawn up.

"Essentially, we can only go for one of Aang's establishments. The largest is the Blue Bison Casino. Surveillance over the past few weeks has told us that he can get anywhere from 1,000 to 5,000 cases of alcohol a week, depending on his need. He does his shipping on a weekly basis, and this liquor is mostly coming from warehouses with leases and deeds in Gyatso's name."

"Is there no way we can make a raid on more than one property?" One of Zuko's beat cops asked. "We're going through all this effort, and all we're doing is going to the Blue Bison?"

Zuko sighed. He would love nothing more than to hit every operation Aang had running, but it just wasn't possible. He rolled up his shirt sleeves, began digging through the pile of papers on his desk until he found Aang's property records.

"Ideally, we would hit them all," Xin Fu said. "But that would mean getting nearly the entire FBI down here for a massive simultaneous raid, and the government isn't going to fund that kind of operation."

"We're hitting two properties, remember, not one," Zuko reminded the group. "We're going for the Blue Bison, and one of the warehouses. Yes, the warehouse is in Gyatso's name, but for all intents and purposes, Aang's running the show. Let's not forget that."

The gathered officers mumbled their assent, though there was clear dislike on many of their faces. Zuko understood their frustration, and if it was up to him, the entire government _would_ fund their operation, send them as many men as needed so they could take down every illegal establishment Aang had. The more charges they could pile on, the longer Aang would be put away, and the longer Zuko would have to dismantle his gang and work on shifting the balance of power back in the favor of the police. But that was just too optimistic, too much wishful thinking. So far away in D.C., many of the higher government officials would see this as a small problem. Why couldn't the local cops handle a bunch of rag tag boys? They were too embroiled in their own work to spare the kind of thought Zuko wanted spared.

"Alright boys, let's break," Xin Fu said. "If you're coming with us, we're leaving for Haru's trial soon."

As the group began to break up, Xin Fu held Zuko back.

"We could use more detectives like you in the FBI," he said. "I've watched the way you handled this case, and it's been a pleasure working with you. I admit I had my doubts when we first met, but you've proven me wrong."

Zuko smiled. "FBI, huh? All the way in D.C.?"

"I understand you're loyal to your uncle and all—"

"More than being loyal to my uncle, I've got a loyalty to this city. It needs me."

Xin Fu placed his hand on Zuko's shoulder. "The offer's going to be on the table for a very long time. I'm not expecting an answer right now. Talk it over with your wife. Maybe I can pull a few strings for you."

Zuko nodded. It would be a big step up from being a detective in Chicago. He'd have a lot more to oversee, and it would give him the chance to travel. He wasn't so crazy about moving his family, though, and there's no way he would ever consider leaving them behind. But so long as the offer was going to stand on the table, he wouldn't throw it away so easily. As they left the room, grabbing their suit jackets, Zuko laughed.

"Katara would get a kick out of being married to a federal agent. She'd brag to all her friends."

.O.

Haru's trial was packed. In the throng, Zuko spotted several members of Haru's gang, all wearing identical suits, sitting quietly to the side. He could pinpoint the guys who'd beat him up, though none of them were looking nearly as confident as they had been that night when they cornered him in the alley. The usual circus of reporters was there, some cops to keep the peace, as well as businessmen with a vested interest in the outcome of the trial and some locals who clearly didn't have anything better to do.

Even with Haru sitting at a front table with his head hanging and his face blank, two other guests drew more attention. The steady hum of conversation was largely centered around speculation of why The Governor and his daughter were attending Haru's trial. Mai and her father were seated quietly and properly in the third row behind Haru, flanked by four bodyguards on each side, Mai's hands folded primly in her lap. She was looking thoroughly bored with the pre-court proceedings, but she remained seated, her back straight, a slight frown tugging her red lips down at the corner.

She turned then, maybe sensing Zuko staring at her, and the jewels in her hair caught the sunlight, sending a rainbow across the jacket of the man in front of her. Her golden eyes narrowed slightly and she smiled at Zuko, her lips parting. She nodded her head, and Zuko returned the greeting, wondering just what was going through her head. He wondered if she was going to keep her word and keep their meeting a secret. He hadn't, and that had briefly raised doubts in his mind. But who could cause the most damage? Zuko felt pretty confident that he'd be able to come up with a plausible lie, and with Iroh and Xin Fu to back him up, they could spin the meeting as a ploy by the police to draw more information from the mob. That would also invite retaliation from The Governor, but Mai also stood to lose something. The added public attention wouldn't be the best for them, and could possibly make their business partners back down from deals. When you're pushing liquor during Prohibition, it's always best to avoid too much scrutiny.

No, Mai was quite likely to keep their secret, and if she did let it out, it would be quietly, and through predetermined channels. It wasn't The Governor's style to wage an open and public war. His tactic was more subversive; get inside and pick and pull until the frame caved and the building collapsed.

"She seems very interested in you," Xin Fu said, nodding slightly toward Mai.

Zuko looked at Xin Fu, confused and disbelieving, before remembering that the agent wasn't a native of Chicago. He'd only been there for a short time, and hadn't been properly introduced to all of Chicago's gangsters. He might have seen pictures, but The Governor had been too far from their focus, so they hadn't looked at those pictures very often.

"That's The Governor and his daughter, Mai."

Xin Fu nodded. "I figured they were important. But that nod to you was very friendly."

"She's childhood friends with my sister."

Zuko ignored the flabbergasted look Xin Fu was giving him. The judge was coming in, and the courtroom was instructed to stand, effectively postponing their conversation. Zuko's relationship with Mai was a complicated one, even if their interactions were mostly centered around Azula.

.O.

An extremely uneventful hour later, Haru himself took the stand amidst gasps and excited chattering. Xin Fu nudged Zuko and nodded toward the door. Jet was quietly entering, his jacket thrown across his arm. His face was drawn, and it looked like he hadn't shaved in three days. He looked tired.

"Haru, I'd like to address the allegations that you were acting alone in this weapons deal," Haru's lawyer was saying. "You weren't, in fact, acting alone, were you?"

Jet saw Zuko and Xin Fu and made his way over to them. He sat at the end of the bench, nodding to them once before turning to watch the proceedings.

"No," Haru answered firmly, to the shock of the courtroom.

"The prosecution never questioned where these weapons came from. I'd like to address that right now."

Zuko rolled his eyes. Of course the prosecution hadn't addressed that yet. The trial _just_ started. It was clear, though, just what the strategy from Haru's defense team was going to be. There was no way to avoid the weapons charges; the case against Haru was too solid, the evidence too overwhelming. But if he was going down, he clearly intended to take some people with him.

"Where did you get the weapons?" the defense attorney asked. "And remember, sir, that you are under oath."

"I was intending to stop a shipment of alcohol that was headed to a casino owned by the mob boss Smiling Aang."

The courtroom erupted and the judged banged his gavel, demanding order, but it was not to be had so quickly. Xin Fu cursed under his breath, and Zuko gripped his knees, hoping that, when Haru named the casino, it wouldn't be the Blue Bison. Mai was smiling at him again, her lips still a gash across her pale face, giving a friendly nod. Her father turned slightly, frowning first at his daughter, then at Zuko. He whispered something to the man next to him, and the thug nodded, excusing himself from the courtroom.

"If you were after alcohol," the defense continued when some semblance of silence was restored, "how did you come to be in possession of weapons instead?"

"Turns out the warehouse had guns and knives, not booze," Haru said, twisting his moustache between his index finger and his thumb. "We'd gone through the trouble of seizing the warehouse. We weren't about to let such a cache go to waste."

"This is a load of bullshit," Xin Fu whispered. "What the hell is he playing at?"

Zuko pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's a gift."

"Hell no…"

"This casino allegedly owned by 'Smiling' Aang, what's its name?" the defense asked.

"Why is The Governor here?" Xin Fu asked, doing a surprisingly good job at keeping the desperation that showed on his face out of his voice.

"It's an open trial," Zuko said, pushing his own unsettling feelings away. "They can attend if they want."

"It's a goddamn hostile takeover," Xin Fu muttered, dropping his head in his hands. "The Governor just commandeered The Moustache's gang."

Haru sat up straighter in the stands, his eyes fixed on Mai.

"The casino is The Temple."

Whatever relief was brought by the naming of a different casino was overrun by knowing they'd have to raid The Blue Bison sooner than they'd intended. News of Haru's revelation would have the city scrambling to hide all visible ties to Aang, and possibly make Aang remove the alcohol before they had a chance to seize it. They'd have to pull a lot of strings and make that raid happen that night before the evening news hit the stands and the radio airwaves.

Whatever relief was brought by the naming of a different casino was overrun by Mai's appreciative smile, the nod she gave Haru, the way The Governor looked insanely pleased and patted his daughter's hand.

This was a goddamned hostile takeover.

* * *

><p>Work made me dead, so this update took forever to get here. But it's got cute Zutara babies! They'll be a sticky mess when they're returned to their father :D<p>

After writing that chapter with gangster Mai, I couldn't let the idea drop. It was such a strong, vivid image in my mind, that I've fallen in love with it, and if I could draw...man! If only! I'd also draw gangster Haru twirling his moustache. Just cuz. Anyway, things are getting serious in the mob world, and this is a goddamn hostile takeover. I've been watching Boardwalk Empire, which is a show about bootlegging in Atlantic City, set during Prohibition, and there's this one story line where the 'new regime' is trying to take over, and I totally admit to stealing that. Only things are going very differently for my gangsters. Some realize the power of the old ways, and some don't. Some want to forge a new alliance, and some want to continue the tradition of power that's kept their families in place for so long. But this story needs more Toph. Even though I know it's highly unlikely, improbably, and possibly bordering on the impossible for the time period, I see Toph and Mai being the heirs for their respective families. Both of them have no-nonsense forceful personalities that could demand the respect they need. If I ever did a spinoff, I would handwave this improbability and make them next in line for succession. Who inherits Haru's gang in a non-event at this point. I think it's fair to say he doesn't have one anymore.

Thanks a ton to those of you who're reading this. Your reviews always make me smile, and in the last two weeks, smiles have been very much needed and welcome :D And another reminder: if you haven't already, check out the spinoff featuring Azula: Good Mourning. Have your tissues ready!


	10. Chapter 10

"I'm not going to argue with you," Zuko yelled into the phone, very much aware that he was doing exactly that. "We don't have time. Those raids need to happen _now_."

Haru's trial was in recess, and in other phonebooths in the courthouse, reporters were relaying the news to their bosses, their faces excited, but also cautious. Their voices were low, attempting to prevent their competition from overhearing what they were sure would be the story of the century. Widespread mob conspiracies in Chicago; mob wars; who really runs the city; secret arms deals. Zuko could only imagine the sensationalist headlines that would plague the papers the next day.

"You're asking for a lot," Iroh replied. "How many places?"

"Three," Zuko replied quickly, having already done the math. "Gyatso's warehouse, The Blue Bison, and The Temple. Thirty men each, armed. No less than twenty five. Priority to The Blue Bison. We've got my detectives, plus the FBI agents here. Xin Fu's already put in a call for twenty men from a nearby post. That gives us thirty-five total—"

"These numbers you're asking for…" Iroh sighed. "We just can't do that. I'll pull as many officers as I can off the streets, but _ninety_ men? That can't sound practical, even to you."

Zuko leaned his head against the glass, frustrated. He knew what he was asking for was a lot, but he was thinking of the safety of his men. To go in with so few bodies… They would be risking their lives on uncertain odds. They could only get a rough estimate on how many people worked at the casino, and that would have to do. If they managed to get the raid moving that night, though, there was always a chance that the casinos would be full of patrons. The more civilians present, the less the chance for a shootout. Of course, the mob was much better armed, so Zuko didn't want to push his luck. Xin Fu tapped on the glass, nodding back toward the courtroom.

"Look, I've got to go," Zuko said into the receiver. "I'll take whatever numbers you can give me."

"I'll do my best," Iroh promised.

"Kiss the kids for me. Tell them I said to behave. I'll try to call Katara and let her know—"

"Don't worry about it," Iroh said, chuckling. "I'll take care of it. And the children are as well behaved as ever—"

"Then I should expect the place to turned over when I get back?"

At this, Iroh laughed outright. "They'll make fine detectives when they get older. They've already found my hidden stash of snacks, and humiliated two officers for having poor spelling and grammar. Kurzu is currently holding desk inspections, making sure everything's up to code."

Zuko smiled. His children were very inquisitive, he knew that, and sneaky to boot. They hardly let him or Katara get away with anything, so he'd expected nothing less when he took them to the office. Still, all the fussing he'd hear from his colleagues would be worth it for the pride on his children's faces when they talked about just how much they'd done, or how they kept the office in order while he was gone. They were convinced that Zuko ran the entire office, despite Zuko reminding them often that it was actually Iroh's job as precinct captain to do that.

"I'll see you in a little while," Zuko said, before exchanging farewells and hanging up the phone.

When they returned to their seats in the courtroom, Jet informed them that Mai and her father left, a whole host of reporters trailing them.

"She left this for you, though," Jet said with a sad smile, handing Zuko a folded up piece of paper.

Tentatively, Zuko unfolded the piece of paper, read through Mai's note once, then a second time, fury growing as he did so.

_My old friend,_

_I know you have done your best to forget everything that linked us together, but we're not so different, you and I. You would do well to never forget your roots. This gift I have given you is equal parts reprieve and punishment. Had you accepted my offer, you would not have to rush this raid, and some of your men wouldn't have to die in the events that follow. Even if you keep up your wife's wild and idiotic optimism with others, you and I are closer in natural disposition, and I know you would not lie to yourself. You play a dangerous game, and there is no way to avoid bloodshed. I have always considered you my equal, and it is a shame that we will not be on the same side. When retribution rains down on those who have done my family wrong, be sure that I cannot count you among those numbers. Azula would be beside herself with grief should something happen to you._

_My father is also interested in speaking with you, though on a personal rather than professional level. I suspect he does not like the way you look at me. A pity that Katara will hear of our affair this way._

_Mai_

Zuko clenched the note in his fist. He couldn't even focus on the rest of the trial. He knew when he was slowly being lured into a trap. To make matters worse, Mai wasn't even trying to hide it; she was making her moves known to him. Zuko wanted to say this was born of desperation, that The Governor's influence was waning, but given this display of power at The Moustache's trial, Zuko knew that would only be a lie to make himself feel better. If he didn't do what Mai wanted, it wouldn't even matter that he'd never touched Mai, that she'd never made any advances toward him, that she'd only had a childhood crush on her good friend's attractive older brother.

Rumors and insinuations didn't need to rely on truth.

.O.

This was not the way Zuko would prefer for the raids to go down. Iroh had done an impressive job of rounding up such great numbers on such short notice, but it still fell short of what Zuko wanted. He hadn't needed to tell Iroh, but the number ninety had been the bare minimum. Iroh managed to gather seventy-eight, but split three ways, that was twenty-six people in each group. They would have to be extra cautious. Mai knew exactly what she was doing when she made Haru reveal the location of an enemy establishment selling liquor. Even if she didn't know that Aang was already under investigation, she knew their resources would be stretched thin trying to keep up with him. She was reminding Zuko of his relative powerlessness.

"You ready, chief?" one of the Operation Soap Bubbles detectives asked.

Zuko smirked. They were all looking to him for instruction. Standing outside The Blue Bison, twenty-six detectives, FBI agents, and beat cops behind him, Zuko _was_ chief. This was his leg of the raid, and these men were fully under his command. Xin Fu would be leading the raid on The Temple, and Iroh had agreed to take the warehouse, leaving the big busts to the two lead detectives who'd worked the case.

And this was the payoff.

Hand on the gun at his waist, Zuko opened the door, motioning the men in behind him. They poured in the door, some officers with their guns drawn, attracting the attention of the patrons on the ground level. Zuko scanned the crowd of stunned faces, women with ermine stoles and diamonds and pearls covering their mouths with silk-gloved hands. The men in their suits and ties, hats sitting on the edges of pool tables, or hastily placed to conceal tumblers of alcohol, shrank back from those at the door. Two detectives at the back of the crowd closed and locked the door, trapping everyone inside. Zuko glanced down quickly; the carpet was that same ghastly shade of electric blue as Aang's tie, but matched with crème walls, it wasn't an entirely unpleasing effect. The room was bright, and the gold detailing on the walls added a bit of opulence to the otherwise plain room.

The patrons were the glittering jewels; there was none of that evident on the hanging light fixtures, no thick golden ropes to hold back velvet curtains. There were no ornate chandeliers, no mirrors on the walls. The wait staff stood out in white coattails with black buttons and black tuxedo pants, their shoes polished to a high gloss, their trays silver, and the glassware reflecting the light blindingly in their eyes.

Normally, Zuko would need to wait for proof that The Blue Bison did, in fact, serve alcohol. Not this time. It was evident in the air, leaden with the smell of whisky and fine, spicy wines. Those bright champagne flutes were not filled with sparkling cider; in the still silence, Zuko could almost hear the bubbles popping with a satisfying sizzle that would bring any connoisseur to their knees.

"Well," he said into the air, "I suggest someone get me the manager. This establishment is in violation of the Prohibition Act."

For a few tense moments, no one moved, just stared at the agents with their eyes wide and their mouths open. Zuko willed himself to calm, to keep his heart rate as even as possible, to keep the adrenaline at bay for as long as possible. He didn't want to be too jumpy before anything even happened. He needed his mind to be clear just in case any of those waiters turned out to be doing double duty.

"We…we're just following order, sir," one brave waiter said, his arms visibly trembling, sweat along his brow.

"Then follow this order and get the manager," Zuko replied tersely.

The waiter nodded, and hurried off as another detective stepped forward giving instructions for everyone to remain seated and to pull out their identification. Slowly, three detectives made their way around the room, collecting information and doing their best to keep the general public calm. Zuko remained where he was, poised on the balls of his feet, ready to move in an instant's notice. That waiter was gone for nearly five minutes, and Zuko didn't like that at all.

"Where's your boss?" Zuko asked the moment the manager walked into the room.

"He's gone out of the country," the middle aged man stumbled, clearly taken aback by Zuko's abrupt tone. "I was trying to reach him, sir. That's why it took me so long."

"You were given no such instructions. If you can't follow a simple directive, then it's a surprise you haven't been fired yet," Zuko said testily, reaching into his back pocket as he stepped to the manager, flanked by four detectives. "You're under arrest."

The manager put up a little fuss, but other than him, most people simply looked embarrassed, and as if they wanted nothing more than to have their names kept out of the morning paper. That didn't mean Zuko was about to let his guard down, and he sent warning looks to his men to remind them that, still, anything could happen. Each person was a potential threat, and it was impossible for them to keep the place secure with so few people on their side. There was no point in even trying; the best they could do was remain vigilant and keep their eyes open for any potential threats.

Zuko didn't want to sound ungrateful, but he wasn't terribly fond of the way everyone was just rolling over for them. It didn't sit right with him, even as they carted away half of the staff.

.O.

After dinner, with the children put to bed and the coffee consumed, Zuko reclined on the couch, letting his head droop over the back. He stretched his feet out under the coffee table, his tie in a pile on the seat next to him, and the top buttons of his shirt undone.

"You shouldn't push your luck," Katara said, curling up next to him, resting her head on his shoulder. "I'm sure you'll have other battles later, but for now, enjoy this easy victory."

Zuko curled his arm around his wife's waist, pulling her closer to him. She was right; he should just accept an easy victory, but life had taught him easy victories were anything but. It all came with a price, and that price would be exacted later.

"The manager said Aang left the country."

"You're thinking he didn't."

Katara smoothed the wrinkles in Zuko's shirt, inspecting the buttons and frowning. One of them was loose, and she twisted it in her hands, and Zuko kept his silence, knowing Katara was thinking something over. Finally she sighed, pulling away from Zuko to look him in the eyes. She placed her hand on his chest, and Zuko covered hers with his own, not wanting to hear what she was going to tell him.

"Aang is persistent. He always has been. Maybe he really did leave the country. You have to look on the positive side. This gives you an opportunity you wouldn't have if he stayed. With Aang gone, you can do things he was keeping you from doing while he was here. Don't sit on the couch and mope, silly."

She poked him in the forehead, and Zuko found himself smiling. He knew she did that specifically to make him smile; no matter the situation, that simple, goofy gesture always made him think of easier times between them, when they'd been younger and so completely in love that he neglected his work.

"When were you going to tell me you can read minds?" Zuko teased. "I haven't told you anything about this case other than we're investigating Aang. And that was to ask you for information about him."

"I'm a smart girl." Katara winked at him. "I read the papers. Most importantly, I know Aang. If there's something he doesn't want you to know, chances are you're not going to know it. So long as he has the power to deny you that knowledge, he will."

Zuko sighed and leaned his head back again, closing his eyes. Aang had connections, and he supposed Katara was right; if he was farther away, Aang couldn't possibly know what they were doing quick enough to stop them. He probably had spies everywhere, and depending on where Aang went, there would be a delay in the communication.

"I should convince Uncle to put you on the payroll," Zuko said, a smile creeping onto his face again, and his arm creeping back around his wife.

This time, Katara settled into his embrace with a smug smile. "As much advice as I give you, I _should_ be on the payroll. I'm at least halfway responsible for all of your major arrests."

"Oh, come on," Zuko said, leaning back. "That's not true, and you know it."

"Who do you talk to when you can't figure something out?"

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean—"

"Hush, now," Katara said, patting his cheek. "These are only little details. The important thing is the big picture. You're doing what's right. It hurts sometimes to see what it does to you, and how hard you're pushing yourself, but… I'm proud of you."

Zuko kissed her forehead. "Thanks, Kitten. That means a lot to me."

"And you're important to me," Katara said, standing and stretching her back. She grabbed Zuko by the front of his shirt, pulling him off the couch. "So whatever else you do, you better stay alive."

Katara smirked before kissing Zuko, his shirt still fisted tightly in her hands. Zuko couldn't hold back his own smile. No other woman could be so alluring while she threatened him. For her, and for their children, for their love and for the life they deserved, he would stay alive.

* * *

><p>With a new goal in sight, I think I'm finally ready to begin crafting the end of this story. It's a bittersweet moment because, while I'm glad that I've finally got an ending, the story is...well...ending. You guys have been absolutely great, and it warms my heart to read your reviews. I'm glad you're all so invested in this story, and that I've been able to brighten your days just a bit :)<p>

I wanted to say something about the raid: it is anticlimactic for a reason ;) In the show, Aang pulls off his biggest stunts when his back's against the wall and he doesn't have many other options. As the pincers are closing in from two angles-the police and The Governor-Aang's getting a bit cornered. In the next couple of chapters, something's got to give. Also, I couldn't resist throwing Mai in there again. She's just so much fun to write, and this little idea for a one-shot with her and Azula keeps nagging me.

But, once again, I just want to thank everyone for reading. I'm glad you're going on this journey with me :)


	11. Chapter 11

Katara was sitting across from him at the kitchen table, her mouth hanging open, looking completely and utterly shocked. Zuko's palms were sweating, and he wiped them on his pants, eagerly waiting for his wife to say something, anything. Even if she yelled at him, it would be better than her silence. Then he'd have his answer, either way.

"I…I just…"

Zuko watched as she dropped her head into her hands, her face looking drawn and tired. She hadn't known just how deep he'd been in this mess, how much he'd risked and had been willing to risk. He'd confessed everything to her, spurred on by his uncle and Xin Fu. Initially, Zuko was touched that their first reaction to Mai's note had been concern for the stability of his family. Now, Zuko mostly felt like bashing them in the head with blunt objects. Tell Katara, they said. She loves you, they said. She'll understand.

She wasn't understanding.

"How could you have known she would have kept her word?" Katara asked with a shaking voice. "What if, when you went to meet Mai, there were armed men there? How do you know she wouldn't have killed you?"

"Because of Azula—"

"She doesn't _care_ about Azula," Katara said, an almost pitying tone in her voice. "If she cared about Azula, she would be calling her and speaking with her every day. If she _cared_ about Azula, why were _you_ the one she called?"

Zuko sighed, looking out the kitchen window. The sun was already setting, and it would be time to call the children in soon. He just didn't want them to see their mother like this.

"And _Aang_? I just…"

Katara choked back a sob, taking out a handkerchief and dabbing at her eyes. Zuko had the distinct impression that she was hiding from him, or shielding herself so she wouldn't have to look at him. Zuko knew he'd been doing things that Katara wouldn't like. But to see her reduced to tears because of the lies he'd told and the danger he'd put himself in was indescribable. He hadn't managed to care when Iroh yelled at him because he was so convinced that his actions had brought him to the right conclusion. But Katara hadn't cared about any of that. Even with everything that this ordeal had taught him—about himself, the world he lived in, the useful information for bringing down his enemies—Katara had seen no silver lining. There was no upside to this for her.

"I know Aang, Zuko. I know what he's like, and it terrifies me that you went to his _house_. That you sat at his table and you had _tea_ with him. What if he had poisoned you?"

"He wouldn't, Katara. It's too risky. Too many people knew where Xin Fu and I were."

Katara shook her head, dismissing his rebuttal. Zuko clamped his mouth shut. Katara had every right to rage at him, but he could feel frustration battling with guilt and pain. For every bonus he presented, Katara had some way to downplay it. There was _no way_ he could have known about the coming mob war if he hadn't met with Mai. There was no way he would have half the information he did if he hadn't put himself in some sort of danger. Every day he put on that badge he was in some sort of danger.

"Katara, please," Zuko said, reaching for her hand. "You have to understand that this isn't exactly a safe job."

"I know that, Zuko. I know your job is to put your life on the line, but there's putting yourself out there for your job, and idiocy."

"Idiocy?" Zuko recoiled, not even waiting for Katara to reach for his hand. "_Idiocy_?"

"Zuko—"

"So you think what I'm doing is stupid and trivial—"

"I think you want to prove yourself—"

"To whom? Who the hell—"

"I don't _know_, Zuko," Katara yelled, slamming her hands down on the table. "I don't know what you're proving to whom. I just know that you've been this way for as long as I've known you."

"Then why make a big deal of it now?"

"Because it could get you killed. Because I can_not_ bury my husband and be expected to keep living as if you never existed."

There was such fire and passion in Katara's voice and eyes that, for a few minutes, Zuko was speechless. He sat, blinking at her, until she began to shake and her face crumpled. She stood to meet him, but her legs gave out under the weight of her fear, and Zuko wrapped strong arms around her waist, even if he wasn't sure he'd be able to keep them both upright for long. Katara was shaking violently with her sobs, clinging to his shirt as if he was already gone. Zuko felt his chest tighten, and he held her all the closer as he realized that all her protests and scolding ended in one thing: his death. She didn't want him to meet with Mai because he could have died. She didn't want him to hunt Aang because he could die.

"Katara, I—"

"Jun told me her worst fear was hearing that Iroh was dead, and I…I just didn't understand," she said through her sobs. "I didn't _really_ understand until The Duke died."

Of course. There was knowing, and then there was _knowing_. Zuko took a shuddering breath and buried his face in his wife's neck.

.O.

When Zuko walked into the office three days later, he was still feeling limp and drained. His foot had barely crossed the threshold before Iroh and Xin Fu were on him. Sighing heavily, Zuko took off his coat as he walked toward his desk, pointedly ignoring them. They would not be ignored, following him steadily, waiting for acknowledgment.

"What changed?" Xin Fu asked, sitting on the edge of Zuko's desk. "Your fire is gone."

Sighing heavily, Zuko looked up at his colleague. "We're having the same conversation over and over again. It always comes back to me dying."

"We all must die sometime, nephew," Iroh said, placing a hand on Zuko's shoulder.

Zuko looked at his uncle, anger clear on his face.

"I will send Jun to her. Every so often, she gets on me about how reckless I've been. It comes with the territory. The best we can do is work to make this world safer for ourselves and our wives."

"I... You're just _blowing off_ Katara's concerns?" Zuko asked, incredulous. "_You_?"

"What your uncle is saying," Xin Fu said, redirecting Zuko's attention, "is that Katara has always known that your job is dangerous, and that there is a chance you could die on the job." Xin Fu smoothed his hair back, a faint smile spreading across his face. "My wife and I met while I was in the academy. For the longest, she refused to go out with me because she was afraid she'd get attached and something might happen."

Zuko sighed, deciding to take the bait. "And what happened?"

"Nothing. I've been hurt a few times, never too seriously. But the point is that she will always worry. There are times when it hits her harder than others. She called me the night of Haru's trial, said she'd been listening on the radio. Was practically hysterical, sobbing into the phone and everything."

"Like the tides, this will come and go," Iroh said, nodding toward his office. "You and Katara will be having this conversation again."

Reluctantly, Zuko followed his uncle and partner. That they had been, and still were, in his position did little to soothe the pain in Zuko's chest. They hadn't seen the way Katara looked, the pain in her eyes. They hadn't felt her shake so much that her teeth chattered. They hadn't been there, in that moment, in his kitchen, with his terrified wife. The idea of going through this pain periodically did not feel reassuring to Zuko at all. The idea that he would become accustomed to her tears did not make him feel any better.

Inside Iroh's office, the door closed and the blinds drawn, the police inspector's demeanor changed. He'd gone from the kindly, advice-giving uncle to the battle hardened general, his face stony and unreadable. Iroh motioned Xin Fu and Zuko to the chairs across from his desk, and the two sat. Calmly, Iroh opened a green folder on his desk, flipping through pages of typed documents. When he found the section he wanted, he smoothed down the paper, and cleared his throat.

"What I have in front of me is a sworn deposition from a flight attendant who said she processed Aang's boarding pass when he left the country shortly before the raid."

This caught Zuko's attention, and with a grimace, Zuko realized that he was too invested in this mess to let go of it, even if it was for Katara's sake. Cleaning up the streets was also for Katara's sake. And not just hers; their children, and their neighbors' children, and all future generations would benefit from this act. Zuko supposed he had known what his decision would be, even as his tears mixed with Katara's when he placed his wet cheek next to hers.

"What does it say?" Zuko asked reluctantly.

Iroh smiled knowingly at his nephew. "When I was a young man, married to Lu Ten's mother, I nearly backed out of the force."

Iroh's eyes drooped and his shoulders sagged, and Zuko knew that he was thinking on Lu Ten's death again. Iroh had been proud that his son had followed in his footsteps, that despite his mother's early and untimely passing, Lu Ten came out well and strong. Zuko knew that if he didn't redirect the conversation quickly, his own pain and sadness would come to the surface, and after work, he and Iroh would probably stop by a bar and be ten beers in before they realized they had wives to get home to. Xin Fu didn't know about Lu Ten's death during a mob shakedown, so there was no way he could rescue the conversation. It was all left to Zuko.

"We have a long history with them," Zuko said, fixing his uncle with a firm look. "What did the flight attendant say?"

"She says that Aang boarded a plane for France two days before Haru's trial. And that he wasn't alone."

"Please, no," Xin Fu said, shaking his head.

"Yes." Iroh nodded.

Zuko pinched the bridge of his nose. "Toph Bei Fong."

"The one and only," Iroh said, leaning back in his chair, his eyes skimming over the document. "The attendant asked, casually, if this trip was for business or pleasure. Toph said she only travelled for pleasure. The attendant hadn't realized at the time just who they were. They had round trip tickets, and according to the dates stamped on those tickets, they should be back in the country four days from now."

Xin Fu cursed under his breath, pushing himself from his chair and pacing the room. He ran his hands roughly over his face before turning to face Iroh and Zuko again.

"We've got to get moving on the Gyatso angle," he said. "We don't have much time."

Zuko closed his eyes and thought about what Katara told him. With Aang gone, much could be accomplished. So long as he was present to stop them, Aang would do everything in his power to keep them from learning his secrets. Those had been _Katara's_ words, and in that moment, she believed he could accomplish anything. When he opened his eyes again, Iroh and Xin Fu were looking at him, their expressions steely.

"We _do_ have a lot to do," Zuko said, standing. "Aang is the one I wanted when this mess started. I never believed that Haru had anything to do with The Duke's death, but everything that's come after has proven that this is about so much more than an eight year old boy."

"Our resources will be stretched," Iroh said, scratching his beard, "but there are still a few favors I can call in."

Zuko nodded. "Good. If we can get a warrant on him, then let's be waiting at the terminal when he steps off that plane. We need to focus our attention on one of them at a time. We can't afford to deal with them all at once."

"Sounds like someone got their second wind," Xin Fu said, smiling.

"More like I remembered there was a goal. I told myself that if I got Smiling Aang, I'd back down for a bit. Take the family on vacation, maybe. Enjoy them."

"That's a good plan."

Xin Fu clapped Zuko on the shoulder and they exited Iroh's office, heading for the Operation Soap Bubbles room.

"You know Toph won't just stand by while we arrest Aang."

"What is she going to do? Attack us?" Zuko asked with no small amount of mirth. "Then we take her, too. This isn't her fight, and we're going to bank on her being smart enough to realize she needs to regroup for another day."

"And when she does regroup?"

Xin Fu and Zuko stopped at the door to the meeting room. There was a twinkle in the older man's eyes that Zuko didn't think he'd seen before. He'd almost swear it was excitement.

"She won't be the only one regrouping," Zuko said.

.O.

The first step was to get back to Aang's house and find out whatever they could about Gyatso's whereabouts. When Zuko and Xin Fu stood in front of the imposing building this time, they didn't feel that old anxiety and hopelessness. They had a plan. Each goal was small and obtainable, and it made them confident.

A flutter of the upstairs curtains reminded them that, while confident, they needed to remain cautious.

"Shall we?" Xin Fu asked, chucking his cigarette away.

With a deep breath, Zuko nodded and rang the buzzer on the gate, and shortly, the same made who'd allowed them entry last time came to greet them. She wasn't so eager about opening the gate this time, wringing her hands nervously and struggling to hold their gazes.

"Miss—"

"I'm sorry, sirs," the young woman said, shaking her head at Xin Fu. "I can't. Mr. Aang, he doesn't like for people to be here when he's not home."

"What's your name, sweetheart?" Xin Fu asked, stepping forward and placing his hand against the metal bars.

"Oma, sir."

"Like that old romance story?" Zuko asked, unable to hold back a smile.

The woman smiled sheepishly and nodded, but still she wasn't relenting. Xin Fu was covering her hand with his, giving her a paternal smile that almost reminded Zuko of the way his own uncle manipulated his emotions. Poor Oma didn't even stand a chance.

"Listen, Oma," Xin Fu began, his brows furrowed with sadness, "your boss has hurt a lot of people. We're only trying to fix some of the things he's broken. We might have a few questions for you."

"It's just…my family, sirs. I can't—"

Xin Fu held up a hand to silence her, and Oma clamped her mouth shut. She took a few steps back from the gate and folded her hands in front of her, suddenly looking very obedient.

"We will ensure your safety. That you're even worried about retribution from Aang says that something's not right. I can't promise you that everything will be perfect, but we'll do our best to make it better than it is."

The terrified girl that they'd seen on their first visit came back when Xin Fu interrupted her, and Zuko could see her resolve breaking. A lot of the promise was left unspoken, but those words hung in the air, palpable and waiting for Oma to grab them: she would be under their protection; there would be no way Aang could hurt her. When Oma looked to Zuko, he nodded in the way he did to his children when he wanted to encourage them. When Oma finally opened the gate, she did so quickly, casting worried looks around, checking to see if anyone was watching.

"If you get questioned," Zuko said, placing a hand on her shoulder, "you can always say we forced you. Or threatened to arrest you."

Oma nodded as she led them into the house, closing the door quietly behind them. She accepted their coats and their hats, hanging them in the hall closet. Still in silence, she led them to a different sitting room, this one smaller and less cluttered with Gyatso's knickknacks.

"Is there anything I can get you?"

"No. Thank you for asking."

The three lapsed into silence again, Xin Fu seeming content to wait for Oma to make the first moves. Zuko understood that it was important for her to feel comfortable talking to them, but he also understood the importance of expediency; Aang wouldn't be gone for long, and there was much ground to cover. He had taken the lead the last time they were in Aang's house, but it was clear that they were following Xin Fu's plan now, and for the respect he had for his partner, Zuko kept his mouth shut and waited. Even if it was killing him.

"Um…Detective, sir…"

"Yes, Oma?" Xin Fu was gentle and encouraging, keeping his posture relaxed.

"His wife is here, sir."

"Might we speak with her?"

Oma nodded and hurried out the room. When they were alone, Xin Fu shot Zuko a smug smile. Waiting was paying off, and a few minutes later, Oma came back with another woman, tall and slim with hair pinned at the nape of her neck. Her white shirt and long navy skirt were starched and pressed. Her brown eyes held nothing but concern, and when Zuko and Xin Fu stood in greeting, she motioned them back to their seats.

"That will be all, Oma," she said in a warm voice that starkly contrasted her stiff appearance.

No one said anything until Oma was gone, and this time, Zuko was content to let Xin Fu lead. He couldn't help a momentary flash of anger at Aang; he had a beautiful wife at home, one with soft, loving eyes, and yet he still found it necessary to carry on with the Bei Fong daughter.

"I'm On Ji," the woman said, her voice soft and tired. She sighed heavily. "I suppose you want to talk about my husband."

There was no need to prep her or ease her into comfort. Through her makeup, Zuko could see the dark circles under her eyes. She smoothed and re-smoothed her skirt, her hands running over the fabric, even as she held eye contact. Her pink lips were turned down at the corner, and it made Zuko think of Katara again, that guilty monster inside of him nipping at the edges of his heart and hearing his uncle's words again. Tears were part of his life, now. She would always cry, and she would always worry. Sometimes, it would hit her harder than others, and the emotion would spill forth. But Jun managed to deal. Xin Fu's wife managed to deal. On Ji managed to deal.

"I suppose it was only a matter of time," she said, finally breaking eye contact and turning to look out the window. "He's not a bad person—"

"He just does bad things?" Zuko finished with a smile.

On Ji turned to face him, narrowing her eyes. Zuko wasn't about to back down, though. Cliches wouldn't change things. There were times when good people did bad things, but this was a different case. Aang was not a generally good person who picked up a piece of candy and forgot to pay it. He was not a hard worker who ground chalk in the office jerk's coffee.

"I see your point," On Ji said grudgingly. "He's mostly fair to me, and I suppose I can't complain, though." She gestured to the room around them. "He takes care of me. Even if it's bought with illegal money."

"Then you know about his side business?" Xin Fu asked, reaching in his coat pocket for his notebook. "He never hid it from you?"

"Oh, he hid it, alright. He's always wanted to take care of me and protect me. He thought keeping me ignorant of everything he did would help. But it's hard _not_ to know. He has an office, but he prefers to do most of his business here. I serve them tea, and he expects me to close my ears to any conversation. But I get curious."

Zuko looked at his partner and saw the barely concealed excitement. Aang's own _wife_ was talking to them. His wife was willing to speak to the police. They couldn't have asked for an easier break. That, of course, made Zuko nervous. They didn't know this On Ji, who she was, who her family was; for all they knew, she could be carrying out Aang's work.

"I…I used to talk to Gyatso, too. While Aang was busy, I spent nights with his father, and he was such a sweet old man. But he…he never hid the truth from me. He said I could do more harm to this family if I was kept ignorant, and he pushed Aang to tell me things, and it was clear Aang didn't want to. They argued…"

"You were close with Gyatso?" Zuko pressed.

On Ji nodded. "This…_thing_…to him, was a business. When he came home, all of that madness, that stayed at his office. Aang and I have children, Detective, and I have to _hide them_ from the people that come through this house. I do not want those…villains…around my children."

It was like Zuko was five years old again, watching a man with a mangled face and a patch over his eye staring down his mother. That man had been like a mountain to him, massive and bulky, a knife hanging from his belt. There was a hideous scar across the man's neck, the flesh raised and roughly sewn back together. He remembered his mother's stern face, her voice unwavering as she said that Ozai wasn't home, that he wouldn't be home for hours. Zuko remembered the way that man looked at his mother, the way he said that he would wait. The way he stepped forward, and Ursa faltered, stepping back. He remembered the way the blade of the knife caught the sun and it shone, momentarily blinding a five year old, terrified Zuko.

Xin Fu's hand on his shoulder brought Zuko back to the present, and he knew with deadly certainty that this needed to end, and soon. He was much too involved in this case, too much was personally at stake. Old ghosts did not need to be exhumed.

"You're speaking about Gyatso in the past tense, ma'am," Xin Fu said.

On Ji opened her mouth, but then quickly clamped it shut. Panic flitted across her face; this was clearly something she wasn't supposed to spill, and backtracking at this point would be the same as confirmation. She blinked rapidly a few times, then stood, walking to the window, her back to them. Her heels clicked on the wooden floor, the sound echoing hollowly through the room, bouncing off the walls and returning to them. Reminding them of such close quarters.

"Ma'am, is there something we need to know about Gyatso?"

"I'm scared," she whispered. "When I married Aang, I didn't know. But now? I'm afraid. I know what happens and I'm afraid."

"You don't have to be afraid anymore," Zuko said, fighting the urge to rise and comfort her. "You don't have to be his prisoner anymore."

"Who said I was a prisoner?" On Ji shot back, though it lacked much emotion. "I can leave whenever I want."

"Can you? You walk out that door, knowing everything you know, and you think he'll let you live?"

"Zuko—"

"Take your children and leave," Zuko pressed. "If you're so convinced that you're not a prisoner, then leave and never come back. Wash your hands of this."

On Ji slumped forward, her forehead pressed against the glass panes of the window, her hands fisted on the sill. She was taking deep breaths, her shoulders rising and falling, before they shook with laughter. When she turned to them, there was no evidence of the turmoil on her face; to an outsider, she would look like an untroubled woman entertaining her husband's guests until he returned.

"You speak as if you know the truth, Detective."

Zuko gave her a dark, mirthless smirk. "It was my truth, and only one thing freed my mother."

On Ji nodded slowly. "One day, Aang and Gyatso left together. Only Aang returned that evening."

"How long ago was that?" Xin Fu asked, furiously jotting notes.

"When he came home, he was rougher with me than usual. Demanding rather than asking. I noticed a single drop of blood on the cuff of his shirt, and I asked if he'd hurt himself." On Ji paused, sitting down on the sill, crossing her legs at the ankle, staring at her hands, folded in her lap. "That was the first time I was ever scared of him. I asked if he cut himself, and he pinned me against the wall. I was shaking, asking him to stop. At first, I thought he might have been drunk, but he wasn't. He was sober and his eyes were clear."

On Ji was quiet, and neither Zuko nor Xin Fu dared to interrupt her. It wasn't until his mind registered the pain of his fingernails cutting into the palms of his hands that Zuko realized he was balling his fists again. He tried to take many calming breaths, knowing he was losing that impartiality that was supposed to be part of his job, but he'd seen this very scene played out before him too many times. Only Ozai had been more physical than On Ji was describing Aang. And, of course, Ozai had been drunk.

"He put his hands around my neck," On Ji said. "He told me that this is his family, and things will be done his way. He said he would not tolerate insubordination from anyone. He…" On Ji cut herself off, her eyes flicking up to them nervously.

"It's ok," Xin Fu said, no longer writing in his notebook. "You already know we're here to help."

On Ji tried again. "He…" She closed her eyes and swallowed. "He had a knife. He said all life is sacred, but that the winds demanded a sacrifice. It was some…twisted form of the things Gyatso learned when he went to China. And he _smiled_. He declared himself the Northern wind—the wind of change—and said things would be different from now on. He…had a knife, and I…"

When she looked away, swallowing thickly, Zuko stood and went to her, unable to hear any more, knowing the anger was boiling inside him. He placed his hand on his shoulder, gently, and she jumped, looking up to him with wide eyes. The fear was evident in them, and Zuko felt the anger twist his stomach again.

"I don't know where he put the body," she said. "But I know there is one."

* * *

><p>Soooo, the beginning, I feel, is a little rough. It gets better, and by the end, I feel I really hit a stride. If I'd composed this story differently I would have dropped more visceral hints about Zuko's life with Ozai. But yes, Aang <em>is<em> married, and it's _not_ to Toph :D I always imagined that, for this story, he'd be married to On Ji. That finaly scene is actually my favorite. I like doing the mob scenes the best. Sadly, I'm thinking there's only one more chapter left. Two at the most. There's a distinct goal in mind, and that's where we're headed.


	12. Chapter 12

Zuko patted his pockets, checked for his badge, the warrant, extra ammunition. Handcuffs. He checked his gun, tested its heft, made sure it sat comfortably in his hands. He checked his holster, made sure it was securely attached, but that it would allow for free access to his firearm. He ran over the checklist in his mind again, for the fourth time, decided that he hadn't forgotten anything. Closing his eyes for a brief moment to gather his thoughts and his wits, Zuko leaned back against the seat as the vehicle jostled along the road toward the airport. Only so much was in his power to change; beyond that, he would have to hope that Aang wouldn't be stupid. So much could be avoided if Aang came quietly with them, even if he kept that stupid smug smile. If he would come with them, things could be settled in a gentlemanly fashion.

"Look alive," Iroh said from behind the steering wheel. "We're here."

There was no chance of Aang behaving rationally. He was a wild animal, caught between a cliff and a pack of vicious hunters. He would react as all cornered animals reacted—he would fight with everything he had for his freedom. He would not let them corner him. And so, they had to be prepared.

Iroh was the first out of the car, slamming the door behind him as the breeze picked up the ends of his coat and pulled it away from his body. Zuko followed, Xin Fu bringing up the rear. Zuko kept his coat unbuttoned, understanding the reasoning, even in the face of the bitter Chicago wind. They needed free range of movement, and that outer garment would be dumped if it hampered him too much.

The three men marched toward the doors of the airport, nodding to men in suits hidden plainly among the throngs of people arriving and departing. Zuko catalogued the people he saw, looked for exits, tried to mark potential threats. Put his wife's face out of his mind.

"We're going to Gate Seven, right?" Iroh asked, looking around and clearly a little confused.

Xin Fu took the lead, having done more travelling by plane than either Iroh or Zuko, marching confidently through the building, the crowd parting for what was clearly an important group of people. When they saw badges on belts and guns under arms, people began whispering fearfully, pulling their children closer, and wisely looking for the exits. Behind them, unmarked agents fell into step. They were focusing on one target this time, and the firepower was there, ready to back them up when things went wrong. There was no doubt in Zuko's mind that things would go wrong.

Gate Seven was too busy; there was no way people weren't going to get hurt, and Zuko swallowed that nervous lump. His palms were dry and his hands were steady, but that didn't mean he wasn't shaking in his core. Wild animals were unpredictable.

"We should try to clear the gate," Zuko said, leaning towards Iroh.

"It would tip him off to something being wrong."

"But we know he's going to shoot."

Iroh nodded slowly, scratching at his beard, amber eyes sweeping the gate, looking for that signature blue tie.

"And what about the Bei Fong?" Xin Fu asked. "She could become a victim in all this."

"We're taking her in for questioning, too," Zuko said.

"Oh? So we decided on that, then?"

"Just now." Zuko shrugged.

Everything On Ji said led him to believe that Toph Bei Fong knew more about Aang's affairs than his wife. They were in the same business, after all, and woman or no, Toph was a formidable businesswoman and an often intimidating to meet in person. Aang had been wise in choosing his crime partner. She might be tough to crack, but when they did break her, there was no doubt that she would spill forth more information than they could ever imagine.

"There!"

Iroh's words put them on alert as Aang and Toph rounded the corner. They were walking together, her holding onto his arm, both with matching smiles that held more than a sinister gleam to them. Iroh motioned to the agents stationed nearby to be on alert as he stepped into their path, already reaching for his badge.

"I'm Police Inspector Iroh," he said, flashing his badge and speaking in a low tone. "We need to talk to you concerning your father."

"There's nothing wrong with my father," Aang said forcefully. "He's just fine."

"Except that we can't seem to find him."

"Maybe you haven't looked hard enough," Toph suggested, her sweet smile and soft tone openly mocking Iroh.

Zuko clenched his fist, reminding himself that his uncle knew exactly what he was doing, that he would only making things worse by rushing in and slapping the cuffs on them. He hated their infuriating looks, the way the secret was plain on their faces. Iroh was laughing as if they'd made a funny joke.

"That's a good one," Iroh said, his smile growing wider as Toph frowned. "Then you'll help us look for him."

"It's not your business," Aang said harshly, moving to sidestep Iroh.

But Iroh stepped with him. "It becomes my business when someone starts forging his signature, and he hasn't been heard from in upwards of a year."

This stopped Aang, and Xin Fu and Zuko moved into position, flanking Iroh. More people were slowing now as they watched the spectacle. Toph was frowning, her grip on Aang's arm loosening as she took a step back, but there would be no escape for her; agents were coming from behind, closing the gap. Toph turned her head slightly, and Zuko wondered if she was aware of the agents' presence, if her other senses were heightened to compensate for her blindness. When she stepped back, though, she'd pulled Aang's jacket, and the butt of his gun was briefly exposed. Tense, Zuko nudged Xin Fu, nodding in Aang's direction, his hand moving toward his own pocket.

This didn't go unnoticed by Aang, and he stepped back, putting distance between himself and the officers in front of him.

"If you've got some charges, state them."

"No one's charging anyone," Iroh said, palms up in a gesture of goodwill. "We merely want to talk. As you're his closest relative, we're going to speak with you about Gyatso."

Aang continued to back up, and Xin Fu motioned for the agents behind them to reveal themselves. All possible exits were blocked.

"Let's not do this here," Zuko said, keeping his eye on the gun. "There are too many families."

"And what about my family?" Aang asked harshly, his face twisted into a mask of pure anger. "What would you do? _Spit_ on us, that's what you'd do. You have no respect—"

"I've got enough of it to know not to make my problems someone else's problems," Zuko shot back.

"If you'll follow us, we have a few questions," Xin Fu said, stepping to the side and gesturing forward. "_Both_ of you."

"What?"

Toph recoiled from them, bumping into a disguised agent who grabbed her shoulders. Toph grunted and slammed her elbow into the agent's middle, and this gave Aang the opening he needed to try to get away. Taking advantage of the surprise, Aang rammed his shoulder into Zuko, knocking him aside and sprinting for the exit.

"Catch him!" Iroh yelled to all present, giving chase.

Aang tore through the crowded airport, knocking aside people in his desperate attempt to flee, squeezing between crowds too stunned to move, and shoving aside others without discrimination in his haste. Zuko stayed behind to help with Toph as Xin Fu and Iroh followed Aang. Toph was putting up a fight, the agent who'd grabbed her getting the worse end of the deal. Zuko joined the fray with two other agents, reaching out for Toph's arm only to have her swing wildly at him, the punch nearly connecting before shots rang out and people started screaming and running. While everyone was occupied, turned in the direction of the shots, Zuko slapped his handcuffs on Toph, barely sparing a second thought as he shoved her roughly into the other agent and ran after his partners.

He knew he should be thinking about the safety of the bystanders, but the only thought on Zuko's mind was whether or not his uncle had been shot. He couldn't help thinking of Jun and what she would say, and the children, and whether they should be able to see their uncle in the hospital, because Zuko would not—_would not_—let his mind stray to other, more grim possibilities. Hand on gun, he ran past the people cowering on the floor as more shots thundered through the building, and people screamed and children cried, and Zuko's heart beat loudly in his ears, threatening to drown out the rest of the world.

More shots. More screams. Zuko could see them just ahead, Aang firing indiscriminately into the crowd. Iroh was unharmed, returning fire from behind a pillar. One of Xin Fu's federal agents was on the ground, the older man dragging his comrade to safety. Zuko tried to assess the situation as quickly as possible, ducking behind a row of seats as bullets flew past. He was too far away to communicate with either Iroh or Xin Fu, and several of the other agents were trying to corral people to safety or, hopefully, calling for backup.

Katara asked him not to be stupid, and Zuko liked to think he was being brave rather than stupid.

"You are making things so much harder than they need to be, Aang!" Zuko yelled, peering around the seats.

"Sorry, _detective_," Aang said, laughing. "I didn't mean to inconvenience you."

Everyone was huddled on the ground, a low hum of whimpers keeping the airport from being entirely silent. Zuko scanned the area, saw that Iroh was slowly moving to circle Aang.

"You're only inconveniencing yourself," Zuko called out, hoping to keep Aang's attention. "We weren't intending to charge you with anything. Now we'll have to."

Aang laughed again, deep in his throat, his grip loosening on his gun momentarily. Terrified by this sound, a woman screamed as she stood, intending to flee the scene. She barely took three steps before Aang's hand tightened on his weapon and fired two shots, hitting the woman expertly. Two bullets in the back of her head. She fell forward with a dull thud. For several beats, no one moved, not even Aang, though he wasn't stricken with the horror that gripped everyone else.

"Let it rest on your heads," Aang called out to the agents. "I'll keep blowing through them, one by one, until I get what I want."

"You haven't even named any demands," Xin Fu said.

Aang turned slightly to face this voice, and Zuko didn't hesitate to creep forward. He tried to catch Iroh's eye, to let him know what he was about to do, but Iroh was too engrossed in his own plan, watching Aang, studying the tension. The only way to keep more people from being shot and dying would be to take Aang out. There could be no doubt of that. Again, Zuko crept forward, hoping that Xin Fu could keep him engaged as long as possible. Zuko knelt and steadied his gun, aiming for Aang's leg. It would only take a single shot, distract Aang's mind with the pain of his wound, and he'd likely drop his gun. Even seasoned officers and soldiers would drop their guns. Aang was neither. He was soft. He was pampered. He needed to drop that gun.

Zuko was putting pressure on the trigger when someone behind him screamed. A child no longer held down by their parents sprung to their feet, and Aang turned, his attention drawn by the sound, and life was drawn out in the seconds as Aang raised his gun, and Zuko put the last of the pressure on that trigger not even a full second before Aang mirrored his actions. The rapport of the guns sounded one right after the other, so close that the sounds mingled, indistinguishable, and as soon as he'd steadied his arm from the kickback of the first shot, Zuko fired again, was preparing for the third shot when he felt hot pain rip through his side. The world flashed white and he could only faintly hear that child screaming and crying, and he bit down hard, grit his teeth through that pain to fire his third shot. He was sweating, his heart beating so fast as he tried not to focus his mind on the grander scheme. That second knife of pain barreled into his shoulder, but Aang was already being tackled to the ground and Zuko fell over backward.

He was aware of commotion, but he was also aware of the pain. More aware of the pain than of the commotion.

.O.

His whole body was humming and thrumming with pain. He groaned as he rolled from side to side, and a gentle hand stroked his cheek.

"Shhh," Katara said as she kissed his forehead. "Stop thrashing, Zuko. You'll tear out your stitches."

Slowly, Zuko opened one eye, just to be sure that he actually wanted to see the world around him. Katara's blue eyes were looking at him, and there was hardly a better sight that Zuko wanted to see. He opened his other eye to better look at his wife and smiled when she looked relieved.

"You didn't think I'd die, did you?"

Katara tutted. "The way you were carrying on, I thought you just might."

Zuko tried to sit up, but before he could move much, Katara gently pushed him back down.

"Cut that out," she quietly admonished. "Do me a favor and act like an injured person."

Zuko chuckled, thinking it quite improbable to be in such a good mood after having been shot twice.

"I know you'll ask," Katara said, stroking his hair, "so I'll just go ahead and tell you. Aang is currently in police custody, as is Toph Bei Fong. Aang will be taken to court on charges of murder, and attempted murder. Uncle is unharmed, and Jun is currently giving him an earful. Your mother is with the children. They're…they're scared, but they know you're alright. You'll be fine. I know you will."

This last was said with a tremor in her voice, and Zuko pulled Katara down to him with his uninjured arm, and he hugged her as close as his injuries would allow. She took deep, shuddering breaths, but she did not cry, and Zuko admired her strength. Had things been reversed, he would be bawling and making a huge scene. He kissed her forehead and her cheeks, and when she looked up at him, he kissed her lips, knowing nothing ever was sweeter.

"They say you saved a child's life."

"Aang wasn't aiming for that child."

"All the same…"

Hanging unspoken in the air was that Zuko was playing into Katara's fears. It wasn't so long ago that he'd confessed the true nature of his work to her, and she'd broken down, saying she was afraid of that phone call. The one that would inform her of her husband's death. And she'd very nearly gotten that call. Zuko was glad that Katara didn't say anything; nothing needed to be said about that. They were both already aware of that.

"Now," Katara said, pulling away and checking Zuko's bandages. "The doctors have given me a list of things you are to avoid doing—"

"Katara, come on—"

"Don't take that tone with me!" Her fists went to her hips, and Zuko shrank back appropriately. "And you won't be returning to work for at least a month, either."

"A _month_?"

Forgetting his injuries, Zuko very nearly sat up. The pain that blasted through his side reminded him that a month was a very generous estimate. Katara gave him a knowing look as he fell back against his pillows, the pain renewed at even this soft gesture. Perspiration beaded his brow, and there was knocking at the door.

Ursa entered then, her eyes red and puffy, and she practically threw herself on top of Zuko to see him so contorted in pain. Iroh entered behind her and pried her off Zuko, rubbing gentle circles on her back.

"She was even more scared and I was," Katara whispered. "I don't think I've ever seen her so worried."

When she'd quieted a bit, Ursa returned to Zuko, her embrace this time far gentler than the last. She kissed his face, gently touched his wounds, her words just barely coherent, apologizing over and over again.

"I wished _so much_," she said, "that you'd just shoot him and be done with it. I wished so much that you would just walk up to them all and just _kill_ them without mercy, and I…I just…" Ursa paused, composing herself and her thoughts. "In my ambition and desire, I forgot that you are mortal, just as they are. We are none of us gods."

Iroh placed a hand on her shoulder. "We all forget that from time to time. Your heart is always in the right place, Ursa. We were not the only ones who needed a reminder of that."

.O.

"Is that news from Uncle?" Katara asked, setting a cup of coffee next to Zuko.

She bent over him to kiss him softly as the Parisian breeze blew through the window of their hotel suite. It was crisp and cleansing and entirely welcome. In the next room, the children were playing, Ira bossing her brothers around and instructing them in a game of her creation. Katara smiled in their direction, chuckling as she no doubt heard more than a bit of herself in her daughter's tone. Zuko smiled, too, before returning to the letter.

"It is," he said, taking a sip of his coffee. It was better than what they usually had in the United States. "He says preparations for the trial are going extremely well. Aang is having a hard time fixing the trial in his favor. Too many people were there and saw him…do what he did."

Katara didn't like it when Zuko enumerated Aang's crimes, and so he'd taken to only alluding to them. Not that it was too big of a bother for him to do it. This was, after all, their vacation. Iroh had suggested leaving before the trial got underway, and before anyone realized he was even in the room, the doctor was wholeheartedly agreeing, practically demanding that Zuko take that trip to Paris. For his health, the doctor said. Zuko suspected the real reason was to remove the temptation of returning to work so soon.

"Well," Katara said as she slid into the seat closest to her husband, "it's good that he'll get a fair trial rather than one he's rigged."

Zuko snorted. "There's no way he could rig this one. There's not enough money in the world for Aang to convince a judge to throw away his career. Let alone buy off a whole jury."

"Throw away his career?"

Katara smoothed down Zuko's shirt, then dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a napkin. Rolling his eyes, Zuko batted her hand away. She was determined to baby him, no matter how much he said he was fine, or that he'd be able to do things for himself. For a while, Zuko tried to pretend that he'd just have his own personal servant, but the magic wore off when Katara refused to play dress up. She'd scolded him and told him that he should be focused on recovering, and that she didn't want to have to explain to the doctor just how his stitches got torn. It was very little consolation to know that she said the whole thing with a deep blush on her cheeks.

Zuko leaned back in his chair. "Well, think about it. If a judge was to pronounce Aang innocent, everyone would know that he'd been paid off. The evidence, the eyewitnesses, it all just overwhelmingly points to his guilt. To associate with a corrupt judge might bring unwanted scrutiny to those who're trying to keep their underhanded dealings secret. Thus, no job for the crooked judge."

"I see," Katara said, twisting a strand of her hair thoughtfully. "And the same with the jury? Everyone would know they accepted a bribe and they could get in trouble, too."

"Exactly."

"He really dug himself a hole, this time, didn't he?" Katara asked with a slight smile.

When Katara stood, Zuko pulled her into his lap and wrapped his good arm around her. She didn't resist, instead leaning back into his embrace. She ran her hands through his hair, peaceful and content, curling into him as much as possible without aggravating his wounds. The children were still making much noise as they played, Khan now having taken over instruction of some nonsensical game. For once, there were very few worries on Zuko's mind, and he allowed himself to relax just as much as his wife.

After all, isn't that what vacations were about? Relaxing?

No, the work wouldn't be over; Zuko was aware that they had only scratched the surface of everything that was wrong and needed fixing. He was aware that they would not be able to fix everything. But it was a start. Some things could be mended and patched, and Zuko would work just as hard to mend and patch those things as he'd worked to catch Aang.

For now, though, Zuko would breathe the fresh Parisian air and listen to his children play as his wife cuddled with him.

It invigorated him and gave him the strength to fight the next battle in the war.

* * *

><p>And, well...that brings this to an end :( The rhythm in this chapter, I feel, is slightly off, and for the life of me I can't fix it. Which really sucks, because this is the final chapter. And this is one of those stories where there's no neat wrapping at the end. It can't be, because the mob can't be completely erased. Well...not yet. Eventually, it mutates into Chicago street gangs, but that's neither here nor there. At least not for this story. Part of the reason this chapter took so long was because I didn't want to write Zuko getting shot by Aang. That's a very sad occurrence, and made even more sad because, in this universe, Aang has no remorse. Oddly enough, in Blackbird, he'd be very much like Ozai in prison-not sitting in the Naughty Chair and thinking on his wrongs. He'd be planning like the kingpin he is.<p>

Anyway, lets go back to the beginning and remember that this story was done as a thank you to **AnnaAza **for being my first 100th review. I didn't think I'd be getting that many reviews, and lo and behold! Here I am! Anyway, now I've got something else to thank her for: this was a really enjoyable ride, and I hope you all enjoyed it with me. You guys are absolutely amazing, and reading your reviews makes me happy. So, happy new years to you all! Hope you enjoyed!


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